


Killing Dogs

by The Viscount of Stars (Starcrypt)



Category: Guilty Gear
Genre: Biblical References, Canon!Venom, Gen, Long Start Up, Old World of of Darkness AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-02-23 10:56:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 66,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2545049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starcrypt/pseuds/The%20Viscount%20of%20Stars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The colour of roses digging into me were quite similar to the colour of her lips." A 'collection' of stories about sacrifice and colours for the Guilty Gear Appreciation Month. I am not sure if this is Halloween enough but I have been thinking about this AU for a bit and this provided the perfect occasion for me to post it. </p><p>And no, you don't need to know about the Old World for it to make sense but I am sure that some information regarding it will help. Sorry for the long start-up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue (Shout and Burning)

Prologue (Shout and Burning)

 

I used to pride myself on my ability to see beauty within everything. I used to speak about that talent as if it were something to be enjoyed, envied, fearful of. But now I realize just what a terrible curse this talent of mine is. As my pets desperately fling themselves at the ensuring nightmare army, I can not move a muscle. For at the head of it, a man with a handsome face is fighting, nay, slaughtering. His sneering, hateful face and the fire that shines off his skin and reflects in his eyes is strangely beautiful. Even that mocking voice, singing words of wisdom, is enchanting me. I wonder if he knows how radiant he really is? I do not believe so. Or rather, I do not think he cares. All he seems to care about is bloodshed and violence and that Theocracy of which he so wholeheartedly believes in. As he chops another ghoul to pieces, I can't help but wish that I had never developed such an ability. The sight of such sinful acts make me tremble in fear, in awe, at his glory. The sight of that handsome face stained in blood and those cold eyes dyed a light orange shade is enough to make me want to pray once more. Ah, if only God would listen to my cries, then surely, surely, this progression would cease. But I've long since been forgotten by the eyes of the Gods; I have fallen much too far to seek salvation from these Holy Knights.

 

“Move out. And don't any of you dare leave a single survivor!” The man cries out, his voice echoing throughout the small village, or what is left of it.

 

At the very least, I hope his voice is echoing. Otherwise he is far too close for my liking. There is surely no way I could survive a blast from that sword of his. And even if I could, I can not harm that face. That is the curse of my people after all. I suppose that the only thing to do is pray and pray again that I can be saved. May the Ventrue find me before he does. May the Children of Gaia find me before he does. May God's most beloved angel find me before he does! Anything is preferable than dying by such a hand. Although I do admire the drama of dying by the hand of the most beautiful man I have ever laid these eternal eyes upon, I do not want to die as if I were a goddamned animal! I want to fight death! I want to embrace death! I do not want to go quietly into the night with the flames of the dozens that came before me and the thousands that shall come after! I do not want my magnum opus, my fire, my soul to burn! I do not want to be forgotten by all but the breeze that carries my ashes on it! God, even if you do not care for a creature such as I, please grant me the soul wish of letting some of this beauty I have created live on, even if I may not! Do not let me be forgotten! Do not let me die alone and unloved by all, a boogeyman haunting the night! I am sorry to have died in such a pathetic manner! I am sorry! Please just--

 

“Are you quite done?” The man asks, head tilted, as he walks towards me with that holy blade drawn; the sparks coming off of it frightening me more than the man with long teeth ever could.

 

I wonder if I look like he did when he died. Eyes wide with fear, mouth hanging open in shock that I would do such a thing to my _beloved_ 'Master'. Or perhaps I will die like that maiden of whom I loved most dearly, eyes closed and a peaceful, no, _serene_ smile on her face as she cradled mine. Perhaps I will redeem this man before he falls into self-righteousness. Perhaps my gentle hands stroking his handsome face will remind him that God said that the most important virtue was Love. Perhaps he would remember that his is a loving God and that even though I deserve to be extinguished as if I were a flame, my human servants did not. Or maybe I will die like an insect falling into a flame, my body alight as I scream out in my own foolishness. Even so, I still pray I will not be forgotten.

 

I gather my mental reserves and position myself in a praying position, partially as a sign of submission, partially to mock the man who dares call himself 'Holy'.

 

“I am ready for death Sir.” I say, as I said to my 'Master' long before this boy was even a twinkle in the eyes of his father or a dream of his mother or even, part of our Gods' great schemes.

 

“Good. I will deliver it swiftly and with the grace of God.” His voice is so firm, yet smooth and sweet like honey.

 

“May I have the honour of speaking to you from your Holy Book?” I ask, hoping that perhaps I can be remembered with an act of pure defiance.

 

“You may.” He replies, eyes filled with a golden fire.

 

“Only three things will last forever. Faith, hope and love. And the greatest of these, is love. I pray that you may not forget that, Child of God.” I mumble, closing my eyes and awaiting the incoming blade to snuff out this most unholy life of mine, unnaturally extended by the blood of the innocent and the loving and the pure.

 

By the jangling of his crucifixes, I can hear him shaking his head.

 

“That quote, it's wrong. In this world, love is not needed. But I guess I have to applaud you for trying.” He sneers. “Now, this far you may come and no farther. Here is where your proud waves halt.”

 

I smile peacefully,  _serenely,_ as that maiden's smiling face, as her caresses touch the deepest recesses of my mind once more and fill it with such an obscene beauty that if I were not to die today, I would surely, surely be dead by the morrow due to the radiance of it all. Even if I could not break through to this man, it does not matter. Someone, someday will. I have planted the seed of doubt and that is all that I could ask of myself. I am ready to die and I am now and forever, unafraid of what will happen next.

 

“Major!” A voice cries out in the distance, as my hearing begins to fade and a chorus of the maiden's singing fills my head. “Major!” He says again but then, a name.

 

But it is far too late for names now. I can hear him raise the blade above my neck, the sparks coming off of it make the back of my neck quite hot, burning the flesh and searing the bone.

 

“Now, go and sin no more!”

 

And just like that, by a man, or rather a boy, named Ky Kiske, my life was extinguished.

 

 


	2. Give Me a Break

Give Me a Break

 

_ea omnia quae pulchra est spurcities_

 

_He painted a GOD on the ground in a LUKEWARM RED that stank like corpses._

 

_porcorum, minuo_

 

_And the taste of that pig blood in such a filthy RED colour was an acceptable offering to the GOD._

 

_hoc ego daemonium_

 

_Light the candles! Fan the fires of RED and steal the breath again! Painting lines for GOD!_

 

_fregi daemonium_

 

_The flame that rises like water! The LUKEWARM RED! Burning! Burning! Oh GOD the RAPTURE is BURNING!_

 

_Daemones sunt pulchrae_

 

_Can you see it too? The BURNING that took her and it will take you too! BURNING takes us all to GOD_

 

_ut 'quare sunt solius_

 

 

_please don't let me die i'm afraid of god the dogma is dark and the dark is fearful i hate when the sun comes out light is so ugly and it smells light shit more of that lukewarm stuff or it won't work you know_

 

_sic ego non sum solus,_

 

_hey heyheyheyehehe stop that kind of stuff you know it's not right! you were supposedtosaveme! when I sleep i hear her calling i am afraid of hershebreathestoohardandthelukewarmileftonherskin'ssougly_

 

_i tributo in deos_

 

_The voices will only get worse the longer you persist in this human. They want to own you, to become you because they are afraid of mingling with the others; of losing their sense of self. I alone am safe for you. Take me inside you instead._

 

_redde uxorem meam_

 

_That can not be done. Not even by me._

 

_Recéde ergo_

 

_It's too late now. You've sinned too much. Don't worry, it doesn't hurt._

 

_Ego autem mortuus sum_

 

_-*-_

 

The man rubs his eyes and mumbles curses in Latin beneath his breath. The same dream, night after night. At this point he was beginning to think that this body of his was broken. The brain at least. Which if of course, if he remembers correctly, the most vital part of the human body and obviously can't be replaced. Which is rather unfortunate considering the sorry state it's in. For fuck's sake, he's possessed drug zombies with better mental states. So what if he was constantly craving some bio-chemical shit? It's certainly leagues better than the random urge to waste himself. But what can be done about it? Short of actually scrapping the body and trying for a new one (which could take years he doesn't have), nothing. He'd just have to put up with his body's horror stories and night terrors.

 

It's almost ironic; he inflicted the trauma on the body himself. That's what he gets for not sticking with the rule of only taking the dead, dying or effectively dead. Even for a Lord such as himself, taking a fully functional body is risky and it could have ended with him frying his own brain or fusing it it to this assclown's if he wasn't lucky. Oh wait, _that's exactly what happened._ Then again, that's what always happens. He gets too attached to the memories in the skull and starts thinking that maybe he can live their life. Never works out of course. That's why he stopped being Fredrick and started being Sol Badguy. Well, he was Sol before this. Only once before though. The Badguy came later though. This guy was a fan of Queen so, Sol is too.

 

A stupid last name to be honest but it stilled fooled people. God knows how. Then again, nobody batted an eyelash at 'Testament'. Granted, the boy behaves like a moody goth kid so it shouldn't come as a surprise that he has that kind of name. Sol is an adult, he shouldn't have such silly names and fantasies.

 

No, his body belonged to an adult. Forty five years old to be exact and honestly, Fredrick should be thankful that Sol showed up when he did. No need to worry about Crow's Feet or frown lines any longer. The general youthfulness of magical beings would persevere past the mortal limits of good looks. Sol's fleshcrafting abilities probably helped a bit with that too. Although his poor grasp on the anatomy of human men lead to a much smaller waist than sociably acceptable and he was pretty sure his pecs were a little bit too much and that some of his perfectly toned muscles weren't even muscles but whatever, he was hot in a ruggedly masculine “I'll smash your head in. But in a really hot way.” kind of way. He kept a few of his unholy features too because why the Hell not? The fangs and gold eyes only added to his appeal, he thought at the time, and by now he's grown too accustomed to bother changing them. Besides, he figures that his obscenely long hair actually stands out more than his eyes. Nobody's questioned them yet. Of course they could just be assuming he was one of The Fair Ones. Either way, it suits him just fine. This body, these people, it's all just fine. The only thing that bothers him are the internals.

 

There's nothing that can be done about that though and he's spent enough time reminiscing. Today, he has to see Testament about those Theocracy kids. He's gotten word that one of the higher ups had recently burnt down a small town to get to the Toreador hiding inside. Naturally, people are pissed off at the group for having the audacity to pull such a ballsy move and are calling all sorts of bounty hunters to bring the lead kid in and make an example of him. Sol being one of them. His particular client seems to want the boy alive. The guy's a bit creepy though, who knows what kind of stunt he might pull? So he'll go, scope out the kid and see if he really is some kind of Dark Messiah or just a misguided little brat and deliver on his own terms. Fredrick was never one to listen to authority. Which is probably why he's in such a mess nowadays honestly. That and all the booze.

 

He ignores that last thought and brushes through his hair with his hands. These locks were some of his more gorgeous features so he had to take good care of them. His teeth, eh, they look better yellow anyway he figures. Not like they'll fall out. And even if they do, he'll just grow another set, sharper and whiter than before. In theory, he could keep them pearl white but that could potentially spoke people. Yellow made them seem even more natural somehow. Uncanny valley, or something like that. Whatever. It really just means he doesn't have to waste time brushing his teeth.

 

He doesn't really want to get dressed either so he just wears what he slept in (IE what he wore yesterday and the day before that and the day before that and my god does this man ever bathe?). He fastens the button on his vest, hiding his man-cleavage just enough that he is socially acceptable and looks in the mirror one last time to make sure he doesn't look like some kind of male stripper. He does but he doesn't notice or doesn't think it's that bad (it really is) and grabs his guitar case. A hard case with a huge handle even though he personally prefers soft ones. But in this case, a harder one is necessary. How else would he keep Fireseal in it? It fits almost perfectly too. Just the right size. And the sword's heavy enough to make it feel like a real guitar. It's a pretty great plan except for those rare times people ask him to play it. He just has to lie and hope for the best in those cases. Airports are a struggle too. That's why he brings Testament around. Who else will Obfuscate/Dominate (or whatever they call it these days) the guards for him?

 

He slings the case over his shoulder and cracks his neck into place with his palms. It'll be a long walk to that forest of his, but it'll be worth it. There's nothing like a little exercise to kick the day off.

 

 

-*-

 

Sol can't remember the last time he was this wrong. After climbing through that hot, sweaty, bug and bird shit filled forest just to get to this little emo, the brat has the nerve to slam the door in his face. That was most certainly uncalled for. But because he's such a nice guy, he raps on the door a couple more times before kicking it down ontop of the kid.

 

“Sol please!” Testament protests, his voice muffled by the door on his face which is in turn being assaulted by Sol Badguy's most heavenly right leg (the left one isn't quite as heavenly. It has some quite pronounced veins.).

 

“Give me a break.” Sol mutters. “Look kid, I don't have time for your whiny bullshit. I have a job to do and I need you to do it. That's it.”

 

“And I'd have helped you if you had given me a second to prepare! But no, you come in bursting through my front door like some kind of.... some kind of animal! How barbaric!” The boy mumbles, attempting to crawl out from underneath the door.

 

Sol responds by pressing down on it harder.

 

“In case you haven't noticed kid, we are animals. It's kind of in the job description. Then again, you were never one to read the fine print.”

 

He removes his foot and allows the boy to scramble out like a rat.

 

Testament hisses and strokes his hair down, mumbling something in German that Sol can't be half-assed to translate.

 

“What do you even want my help with?” Testament groans, shaking his legs as to remove the numbness from them.

 

“I need to catch this Theocracy kid. You know the crazy bastard that burnt down Ingram Pill? Major General something something whatever. I got this big name client that wants his ass alive. It's a lot of money. Figured you'd want in.” The brunette replies, taking a cigarette out of his pocket, using his fingers as a makeshift lighter.

 

The other shakes his head and sighs, red eyes reflecting an internal sadness that Sol could hardly feel for.

 

“I'm not in it for the money Sol. It's never about the money. Regardless, what do you know about the boy? Naamah might have heard about him. She has gotten quite involved in Theocracy business recently and she might know about him. But without a name or something similar, I don't think she can give you much help.”

 

“Ain't his rank enough?”

 

“No Sol.”

 

“Ugh fine. I got a picture. It's blurry but you can still see him pretty good. I think.”

 

The man holds out an extremely blurred photograph of a blonde man (or perhaps boy because he could easily pass for fifteen and was certainly not older than seventeen) dress in a slightly higher quality version of the usual General uniform. His tightly fastened (as to make sure that not a single show of what lies beneath) white coat billows behind him in what must be a heavy wind and the blue cross (that takes up most of his chest and goes straight down to the center of his thighs) on front blows upwards to reveal the pure white tights underneath. Contrasting with this are the combat boots (not part of the standard uniform) and the multitude of dangling golden crosses that adorn his upper half. His hands are covered in blue and white gloves with words scrawled on in a Chicken Scratch imitation of French. The writing on the left is obscured but the right is clean as day due to the position he was holding his sword. “Va, et ne pèche plus.” Which translated to piss all as far as Sol was concerned but the gloves might help identify the boy among all the other short, messy haired blue eyed blondes with baby faces in the Theocracy. They started getting them young and pretty these days. What a shame.

 

“Hmn. Naaham, do you recognize this boy?” Testament asks.

 

The crow on his shoulder shapeshifts into the form of a humanoid woman with gray skin and purple markings and grins with a smile that holds a little too many teeth, all too white, all too sharp.

 

“Ky Kiske of the Holy Knights sector of The Theocracy.” She explains. “He's seventeen years old, was taken from a noble house in France and is the current face of the operation to associate The Theocracy with beauty and hope. So far, it's working! Except for this little stunt he pulled I guess. Anyways, he's Major General of his sector, which is full of hot, buff dudes by the way, just in case you cared, and is the most 'Godly' and 'chaste' 'cause of it (gotta set a good example for the troops. LOL!). Kinda yummy though, in like, a femboy way. Probably has a lot of good dreams stored up in there though so he's almost certainly backed up by one of The Fair Ones. You know how they like their blondes up in Fairy Land. Especially the sexually repressed ones.”

 

She smiles, softer now, towards Testament, as if asking if she's done a good job.

 

“Thank you Naaham.” The boy nods, taking the photograph from Sol's hand. “Your help has been much appreciated.”

 

“So you gonna help me or not?” The man growls, already tired of this game.

 

“Yes.” Testament responds, walking to the other side of the room (turning his back to Sol in the process) as he begins to pack his luggage into a neat little backpack.

 

“That it?” Sol asks.

 

Testament pretty much ignores him as he packs up his spare clothes and sanitary products. Although, soon after he decides that picking a fight is not a good way to start their adventure and he turns to Sol.

 

“Yes, that's it. I'm coming to assist you. No strings attached.” He remarks, packing some money he's collected and a few trinkets in case bribes need to be made and of course, bird food for Naaham.

 

“Seriously?” The brunette scoffs, pushing his luck.

 

“Seriously.” Testament follows up, zipping up the bag and putting it on. “We leave now.”

 

“Now?”

 

“Now.”

 

“Okay then.” Sol shrugs.

 

Naaham grins and returns to her original (original?) form, perching on Testament's admittedly broad shoulders. The boy grabs a worn stick (the size of his body at least) and uses it as if it were a walking cane. He simply steps over the still fallen door, not caring whether the place gets robbed or not, there's nothing for any value anyway (plus the forest will protect him).

He turns to Sol.

 

“Well? Come along. We don't have all day you know.”

 

And just like that, their adventure began. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This opening is just that, lukewarm. Wish I had spent more time on it. Also, please tell me if the formatting is broken. The spaces look too wide but I am not sure if that is just my computer or if I broke it. A03 is new to me.


	3. Walk in the Dusk

Walk in the Dusk

 

_The blood dripped down from her eye into the pools of liquid left behind by those monsters (She does not know yet what the word for them is. She knows nothing more than the sensations of pain and the fear of lukewarm blood at this point.). Her small hand grasped around a smaller shoulder as agony ripped through her entire body; driving into her body as if it were a well placed nail. Even so, the girl had become enlightened. Although, she was (and still is) not sure how this enlightenment came to be._

 

_Perhaps she was reborn in the red stain that had coloured her vision. Perhaps it was the pain that had tragically been entrusted her entire being that opened her eyes. Or maybe the sorrow and the suffering of humanity had suddenly joined together to grant this little girl the the fighting spirit of a monster and the dedication of a hero. Whatever it may be, it opened her heart, her mind and her soul to horrors beyond belief and strengthened her ever more with the crimson spirit known as resolution. A child, barely aware of the world beyond the walls of her house, was suddenly taken with a trembling, throbbing rage (one of which even now, is unmatched) and gathering her mental reserves, she took a knife in hand and took it upon herself to free herself from this situation._

 

_She crawled beneath the rumble of her house and sat there until she was sure that the rest of those creatures dispersed. It took days- three to be exact. On the fourth, she crawled out starving and covered in her own blood and urine. And yet, even in such a state, she pressed on. She took up a knife and cut up the remains of the curtains (already dirtied but she would take it regardless and survive it regardless) to tie what was left of her arm up with._

 

_And then she left._

 

_There was no point staying in that place that even The Gods had forsaken. Besides, there was nothing that could be done for her kin. Their blood already stained her and the ground was too hard for a burial. The only thing to give them dignity with was the curtain but she needed that more than they did._

 

_She had learnt the most important lesson she would ever learn that day. To take care of the living first._

 

-*-

 

And today she learns another important lesson, don't pick up sketchy looking hitchhikers, even if they are wearing a snazzy three piece suit and you feel bad because of that kid, again. Long story short, he was actually Nagah and ended up hijacking the car she went through all that trouble to steal, poisoned her and left her for dead in a ditch on the side of the road. Luckily for her, (and rather unfortunate for him because when she finds that rotten snake, which she will, he's deader than the Japanese.) her limited healing abilities managed to cleanse the wound before the venom actually did any damage. So while she is alive and living ever longer, she no longer has any form of transportation and is left to walk in the dusk. Which will make getting to Albania, something of a hassle. Unless she can pinch another car, of course. It seems the road's rather empty though so she'll walk for a bit until she can reach another area.

 

_This is the first time I've been fooled in twenty years,_ she realizes with a sneer,  _it's actually pretty funny. Twenty years of paranoia and I get tricked by some ladyboy snake in cheap hair dye. Who dyes their hair green nowadays anyway?_

 

Her foot splashes down in a puddle of water (it's been raining for the past three days), spraying her bare leg up to her thigh. She sneers again, this time at her own foolishness for not paying attention to where she was going, and figures that she'll deal with her own nostalgia later. There is business to be done, things to be killed, memories to bury.

 

A scream rings out in the distance. The sorrow and fear in it is made clear despite the fact that the owner doesn't sound used to screaming. She raises her head to the sound, debating whether it's any of her concern. She decides it isn't and with a shrug, continues off on her way. There's someone waiting for her and she's been putting him off for two decades already. He can hardly wait any longer. If she keeps up this tardiness, then surely The Gods will punish her. She can't say she blames them. It's been long enough.

 

The pavement looks almost frightening in the dark. The cool tarmac makes the water pooling in it appear to be black and the lack of light makes the shadows of the trees loom as if they were silent predators. The screaming that had captured her ears has begun to hold them hostage as well. While, the sound has stopped, the memory of it still lingers as a remnant of 'guilt'. God, how she hates that word. Guilt. You feel it over the most ridiculous of things. Things that aren't even your fault, things that could not be helped. She feels guilty when she breathes and when she smiles. So she stopped doing the latter and concentrated on making the former hurt less. And if she found the urge to stop breathing, she'd stroke the scar on her abdomen and recall exactly who put it there. Even if he still smiles like he used to, even if his eyes light up whenever she sees him, it is not the same and it will never be again. Her body has been forever marked with the vermillion spirit known as dedication (and the umber spirit of despair but that is another story for another time). And yet, she still feels guilty. So when that cry rings out yet again, she spins on her heels and with a snarl akin to that of a cornered pitbull, follows the sound. If the bastard has the strength to cry out so loud, then he must be a valuable ally. At least for the purposes of distraction. Besides that, traveling alone has made her rather bored.

 

… Although... The voice sounds deeper pitched than the previous scream. The last one seemed to have belonged to a deep voiced woman, this one definitely belongs to a man (and a rather masculine one at that). She's hoping she hasn't walked in on some kind of domestic dispute or the kind of fight where it's impossible to pick a side. Maybe if she's lucky, it'll be a two vampire pile-up and she can kill them both, steal whatever they have on them (hopefully a car) and get the hell out of dodge before whatever made them decide to wreck each other shows up. Honestly, at this point, that's the best case scenario. Well, other than that Nagah getting into a small car accident just short of here, killing himself but leaving the car relatively unharmed.

 

She's now made it past where she got dumped and here's the sound coming from the left of her, away from the forest beside the road and into the fields. Gathering her mental reserves, she rushes towards the sound, hand on the hilt of her blade in case things are nasty. No not in case. There is no ambiguity here right now. The scar that was once her arm throbs with a strong, dull pain that alerts her that there is definitely a monster in the area and that it is her duty to cut it down. It's unfortunate it can't tell her what kind it is. The blood pooling in crevices of grass and the sky suddenly turning red tips her off that there's some kind of vampire around – a fairly powerful one – at least. Although, it appears to be going in the opposite direction, as if it were running away from something. Good. It can run from her all it likes but in the end, this blade forged in blood and honour will end it's unnatural life.

 

The thrill of the chase permeates her body as the wind flows through her hair (She should have tied it up before she came) and through her kimono. She's sure that anyone looking at her can see underneath the white skirt of it, but she doesn't really care. Better they look at her underwear than at her face. Right now, she looks like a madwoman. A twisted grin, an eye wide and full of unnatural joy and her clothes torn and bloodied. Honestly, she wouldn't want it any other way. This is what she was born to do, this what she was chosen for. The blood, the fight and the sickening crunch of bones is what she lives for now. While there was more to it twenty years or so ago, that was stolen from her and vanished into the the spring air with the smell of cherry blossoms lingering on--

 

“My Lord! We swear, we'll come back for you! Just... Just don't die! We'll return!” A voice cries out nearby.

 

Baiken follows the sound to he next hill. It appears to have been split in half, as if the Earth itself had rebelled. On the side closest to her is an unconscious man, barely breathing. On the other, are two retreating figures, both women. She shakes her head and breathes out deeply, the high leaving her body as it reluctantly mourns the loss of a fight.

 

She removes her hand from the blade and walks down the hill. With a sigh, she realizes that he's some kind of supernatural himself. Not a monster, but pretty damn close. Or... maybe not. She closes her eye and receives no readings from either his aura or his memories of any monsterhood. Strange, especially considering how strange he looks.

 

His skin, while at first glance appeared to be heavily tanned, is now upon closer inspection actually a natural russet brown. As a contrast, his hair is bright white (even the roots) and a blue eye appears to be dyed onto it. His bangs also been knocked off over to the side so she can see half his face quite clearly. His nose and mouth reveal his ethnicity but besides that, his eyebrows and eyelashes are a purely white, showing that this actually is his natural hair colour. At this point, she's beginning to think she's run into a Changeling and gets ready to leave only for his solitary visible eye to open. It's a dark, piercing blue that searches her face for any signs of weakness. She refuses to oblige and leers down at him, trying to contort her face as much as possible.

 

The man brushes off his pants (half white, half black, strange.) and his bare chest (she notes that he has very strong chest muscles with a click of the tongue). Standing up, he brushes his bangs back in front of his face before shaking his head and lifting up the curtain of hair to reveal his mouth, unmoving and yet, so sad.

 

“What?” She asks.

 

He points to his mouth again, moving it as if imitating speech, shaking his head.

 

“...”

 

“Oh.” She realizes, her face relaxing. “You can't talk.”

 

He nods, dropping the hair back down.

 

“Your group of bastards cleared off. So if you wanna, you can come with me, whether you can talk or not.”

 

The man shakes his head yes. Baiken nods thoughtfully.

 

“You wouldn't happen to have a car or anything, would yo-- Fuck I don't have anything to call you...”

 

The man gets down on the ground and grabbing the pool cue beside him (a dark wooden one with the metal engraving of a skull on the end), spells out letters in the dirt.

 

“Venom? Seriously? Your parents must have sucked.” She shrugs. “Well alright “Venom”, you got a car?”

 

He shakes his head.

 

“Course you don't. Figures. Whatever. We'll walk. Just try and keep up kid.” She says, throwing her hand up in the air but refusing to turn to look at him, perhaps fearing that he'll disappear.

As she walks off back towards where she came, she shudders. This kid moves silently, as if he were used to hunting. It was eerie but comforting. To not be the only 'monster' here, that was divine.

 

She turns to him, mostly to make sure he's still there and points towards the road.

 

“Hope you like hitchhiking, little boy.” She remarks.

 

And just like that, their adventure began.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, now I'm starting to think later chapters can not compare. I'm sorry. For the first time, I sealed the openers but I messed up on tone later on. If you can not stand it, I will be making a summary of the start-up chapters later so you can skip them. Here's hoping I can fix my tone. I didn't want it to get dark so I kind of messed up. And there was so much exposition.


	4. Missing

Killing Dogs

Missing

 

“ _What was the purpose of my existence?” The words forever marked themselves onto his mind within that moment. The blade that had hung heavy against his neck, the thick scent of the blood of those other failed children and the demeaning, obnoxious stench of fear that oozed from every area of the building, were but naught compared to the disappointed faces that filled the room. He had survived so many things, so many trials but here, he was going to die. Not because he was not capable, in fact, he was far beyond capable. The other children were set to die because of their physical weakness and their mental failings but he had failed emotionally, morally. He did not possess the strength to take the life of his fellows and for that, he is worse than them. He had a purpose and he threw it away. But he still wonders what the point of all this was? Why did he live at all of he was destined to die nameless and worthless. What was the reason for which he was born? It is not even as if that boy (He was so beautiful. His eyes were a bright blue and his hair was long and blonde and so very soft.) survived. In fact, he was the first to be killed. He wondered if that boy would have preferred it if he himself had lived. Ah well, it was far too late for that._

 

_The third one died screaming. She screamed and screamed and with her remaining eye, she assaulted the crowd's delicate sensibilities. They had since grown weak. They were no longer accustomed to brave, vicious deaths or persons. Her hair was once a ginger colour but it had streaks of white from the stress and her remaining eye was a dark brown ringed with the black of exhaustion. When that man cut at her neck, the blade merely broke the skin and she responded by breaking down, breaking apart all that he had ever known._

 

“ _You filthy, pigs!” She snarled to the crowd, her eye trembling with rage. “I'll kill you! I'll kill you!”_

 

_Most remarkably, she broke a hand free from her restraints and valiantly tried dragging herself to the crowd, scratching her nails against the floor she was rested on. That man swung the blade against and took more off and yet, she continued to scream._

 

“ _I'll kill you! I'll kill you!”_

 

_The blade took her head off after the fourth blow but by the third, she was no longer speaking, merely gurgling out her words as her eye revealed all the hatred in the world._

 

_The second one died whimpering softly. His skin was a very pale shade and his freckles made him seem even more washed out. His eyes reflected fear and sadness and nothing more, his hands shook and trembled as he tried to stutter out some last words. He couldn't form them and died with a whimper and a pleading glance towards the crowd. The sight of his skin stained red was enough to make him vomit. That sickly child had committed no other crime than not being well enough to participate and it was wrong for them to have forced him._

 

_And then it was his turn. The blade touched his neck, the smooth coolness of it did not feel him with fear or anger, only wonder. “To die without ever living, was that truly his fate?” He asked himself as the blade raised._

 

_And yet, he was still saved. Right before the blow struck, his Saviour, his Master appeared before the crowd and gestured towards his silent form._

 

“ _This one, this one is mine.” He spoke clearly, in a voice that was impossible not to love._

 

_-*-_

He's having that same crisis of existence today as well; as are the women accompanying him – a pair of lower ranking members who had somehow gotten the nerve to sneak out in the dead of night. He had actually come to apprehend them and return them to his Master but the circumstances regarding that woman had forced his hand and now here he is, listening to them droll on, knowing nothing about anything and taking pride in that fact. But they were quite loyal (well, as loyal that a pair of deserters could be) despite their flaws and he was happy to not be alone. He's aware that defeating that woman on his own at this moment was impossible. He was injured, he was distressed and he did not have enough faith left in him to pray so naught can be done about her, or any other monster in the area. The only thing he can do is hope that his Master can forgive him for the sins he is about to commit the next time they meet. For he does not mean any disobedience or disrespect with his current or future actions but he knows that the only way to see his Master in the flesh, breathing and speaking softly, again is to slay that woman (with that golden hair that isn't soft at all) and then the beast (with those golden lies that aren't believable at all). Only then, could his Master be happy, surely, surely.

 

“Lord Venom! Don't walk so quickly!” Miss Velvet Moonlight, the younger (and significantly smaller) of the two women cries out.

 

She was little more than a secretary for the Legal Department and if it weren't for the fact that she was the first one to realize that something was horribly off about Master Zato (at that time, Venom was on the other half of the guild). She had even had the sense to alert her shiftier comrade and to inform Venom of exactly what had happened. For that, he feels a certain sense of sympathy towards her, so just this once he'll take mercy on a traitor to the guild. He supposes she had good reason behind it.

 

“Miss Moonlight, I would appreciate it if you would not scream. We do not want to give away our position, do we?” He asks the woman, his voice quiet yet very deep.

 

“No sir!” She replies.

 

Her comrade laughs deeply from her stomach. This one was the one he didn't trust. She has always had a particularly nasty habit of lying for the sake of her amusement, strange considering she was originally a psychiatrist until his Master realized her unusual skill with a bullwhip. Despite it being an extremely ineffective weapon, she had managed to severely wound a person she suspected to be an intruder. She didn't even apologize for it when it turned out to have been a new recruit. Besides, she was something of a flirt and nothing angered him more than a flirtatious assassin. But once again, he felt a sympathy towards her. He must be going soft. Master Zato would be so disappointed.

 

“And immediately you yell again. Perhaps taking you with me was a bad idea after all.” The larger woman, Dr. Franchesca von Panik, sighs, with a certain mirth behind it.

 

“Please be quiet, the both of you.” Venom insists.

 

This talkative behaviour was sure to get him killed.

 

The three of them pad along the grassy hill, stopping when they notice the sky's colour oozing into a deep, bloodthirsty red. But, despite having warning, Venom is rather surprised when the ground itself rebels against his presence and sends the center of the hill flying upwards, and him along with it.

 

“My Lord!” The younger woman exclaims, perhaps trying to futilely warn him.

 

His body thumps against the cold, damp ground. And while the ground is still harder than ice (must be shale), his head leaves an indentation.

 

The suddenly biting wind and the scent of blood is all he needs to make himself look up, although he already knows exactly who he's going to see. Through his hair, he makes out that woman's figure stained with dirt and blood but still looking so haughty and strong. And the sight of her eyes coldly bearing down upon him, like he's nothing more than trash, makes him want to vomit. In his rage, he doesn't notice the tendril golden hair wrap itself around a large rock just shy of landing on him. Or rather, he doesn't care.

 

“Venom.” She states, her voice colder than the hell she's brought upon his home.

 

“Leave me.” He hisses in return, deep voice echoing throughout the night.

 

“Don't worry, I will. After I warn you of course. Don't get in my way Venom. If you do, I'll kill you.” The monotone of her voice assures him that she isn't bluffing.

 

As if he cares. Summoning his mental reserves, he summons a pool ball in his hand and throws it towards her using all of his remaining might. The sickening crunch of bones is heard by only the two of them but the scream of rage and sorrow and pain is heard for miles.

 

“You can not ask anything of me. I hold no alliance to you.” His tone carries his namesake with it.

 

“You never listen.” She sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

 

Before he can strike her again, he's knocked to the ground by the boulder she had previously entangled within her hair. His own scream of agony surprises him, but not for long. He tips backwards, smashing his head against the wet shale once again. And then nothing happens. Nothing at all.

 

-*-

He awakens to the sight of a woman staring down at him. One of her eyes is strangely missing and she has a bizarre tattoo covering it. At first glance, he believes her to be some sort of Changing Beast from The Middle Kingdom. The sight of her sneer is enough to convince him otherwise and the look in her eye as she silently judges his naked face only confirms it. In response, he dusts the dirt off his pants and chest and stands up, his hair falling back into place. He quickly debates speaking to her before deciding that it would be inconvenient for him to tell the truth but on the other hand, he hates to lie. So begrudgingly, he settles on one big lie rather than a myriad of smaller ones that would only serve to confuse things. He decides to act as if he was mute and after lifting up his hair (enough so only his mouth was visible), he gestures towards his mouth.

 

“What?” The woman asks.

 

He internally sighs at her inability to understand what he feels is basic sign language and points to his mouth again, moving his lips as if to imitate speech, shaking his head all the while.

 

“...”

 

“Oh.” She realizes. Her face visibly relaxes. “You can't talk.”

 

He nods, hoping she'll see it as a confirmation.

 

“Your group of bastards cleared off. So if you wanna, you can come with me, whether you can talk or not.” The woman says, shrugging.

Apparently she did.

 

As a reply, he nods his head, hoping she'll see this as a sign that he would, in fact, appreciate her company.

 

He supposes she did because she immediately begins talking again.

 

“You wouldn't happen to have a car or anything, would yo-- Fuck I don't have anything to call you...”

 

The boy drops down to his knees and taking the pool cue he must have lost during the 'fight' (he can't even call it that), engraves his name in the mix of soil and shale that's been fairly softened by the impact of his skull. He's lucky he doesn't have a concussion honestly.

 

“Venom? Seriously? Your parents must have sucked.” She shrugs. “Well alright “Venom”, you got a car?”

 

He shakes his head. He doesn't even own a car. He prefers to walk.

 

“Course you don't. Figures. Whatever. We'll walk. Just try and keep up kid.” She says, throwing her hand up in the air.

 

He walks behind her, looking at the ruined landscape. This place was beautiful, once, he recalls. Then suddenly, the woman turns to him. Fast reflexes. He'll keep note of that.

 

“Hope you like hitchhiking, little boy.” She remarks, smiling ever so slightly as the black road reaches out behind her.

 

And just like that, their adventure began.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter was a bit too short. Those two girls at the beginning were just padding. Their relevance is small. Although their incompetence does effect the mid-chapters. Which are not being posted yet LOL.


	5. A Fixed Idea

A Fixed Idea

 

_It seemed bizarre to them at the time that God favoured her human creations over the myriad of angels that had come from her light, her love and accepted it begrudgingly. But as time went on those angels soon understood that their inhuman beauty could not compare to the earthliness of the ever wonderful and ever bright Eve._

 

_With her soft body and her strange curves, she was surely more beautiful than us, the angels agreed. Even the Angel of Beauty (the most fair of the New Breed) found Eve to be enchanting soon enough. Those large brown eyes lit up with such... awe at the sight of their black wings and her soothing, gentle voice was so easy to fall into, easy to accept as beautiful and right, more right than even Paradise itself._

 

_God had warned all the angels, them in particular, not to grow too attached to this 'new' woman lest this group of Angels grow 'corrupted' like the last in their blind love for this creation (Lilith is still so beautiful to them, her features were strange but oh so very perfect and her skin was almost as dark as the ashen feathers that had adorned their wings). That angel had not listened – no they did listen, they simply did not care – and extending their slender, porcelain hand, made of such a Divine material that they were surely an angel born of only the most pure intentions, they offered up onto Eve their first smile, their first display of emotion. And she fell in love instantly. The youth that had touched her face suddenly became very mature as she confessed her love. In that moment, the angel was cast down from Paradise but it no longer mattered. They had finally understood what their fallen Mother meant when she spoke of Love and that was truly the most beautiful of things. They were so happy to have finally be able to please and to understand her._

 

_As that angel plummeted towards the ground, wondering what horror lay beneath them, they wondered if Lilith's skin was still so dark._

 

-*-

 

“What's with the long face kid?” Sol asks him, trying not to let any compassion through even though it was glaring obvious it was there.

 

“Nothing. Just... reminiscing...” Testament replies, his boots clicking against the cool, stone path.

 

The older man stops and yanks a cigarette out of his pocket. With a snap of the fingers, a smokeless flame alights. He lifts it to the tip of the white paper and watches it as it curls with flame. With a sigh, he shakes his fingers out and places the cigarette back in his mouth.

 

“Stop thinking about that. It's nothing but trouble. Sides, there isn't anything we can do about it now. What's done is done.” He remarks, a sneer creeping into his voice.

 

Even though he speaks so cruelly, Testament is aware that Sol cares very much for Mother (although he is not sure why.) and for the other fallen children as well. He can't help it. The guilt of sin is far too much for him to bear. He is the second Fallen One after all so it's no wonder he holds such a burden in his hand. It is his punishment for inciting rebellion. It seems that even after all these centuries, he still hasn't gotten used to it.

 

The smoke reaches out towards the sensitive nose of the young man, caressing his skin and lungs as he breathes it in. While he knows it's not good for his human body, he loves the smell and the feeling of it. The touch of death that comes from it, is the greatest taste. It is the only piece of Paradise that he still has.

 

“Want one?” Sol asks through teeth wrapped around that piece of death.

 

“Of course not. This is a beautiful body and I don't want to ruin it. I, frankly, don't appreciate the second hand smoke either but because I have some business to deal with regarding that boy, I'll put up with it.” Testament thinks for a moment. “Naaham will too.”

 

“Do you think I care about what Naaham wants?” The other man remarks.

 

“Yes.” Testament replies, frank as usual.

 

Sol snickers.

 

“Forgot how goddamn perceptive you are brat.” He retorts.

 

“And I, in like, forgot how obnoxious you were. Perhaps this was a bad idea after all.” The young man sighs out, his breath curling in the remarkably cool air. It got cold fast. There must be something bizarre happening nearby.

 

“Good idea, bad idea, whatever. It's a fixed idea either way.” His partner replies, shrugging as he takes the cigarette in between two fingers and pulls it from his reluctant lips (that had cracked and wrinkled in the sudden coolness).

 

“I must agree.”

 

“Course.”

 

Testament continues plodding along, the soles of his shoes making light thumps against the path out of the forest, as Naaham trying to lighten the mood by telling him filthy stories regarding the time she spent as a succubus working under a local Satyr. He's not having any of it and quickly turns back to Sol, eager to talk about well, anything else really. With the gesture, he suddenly recalls a pair of very important questions regarding their current 'bounty'.

 

“Wait, what are we going to do when we find this boy, Sol? Or even, how are we going to get to France before he leaves?” Testament asks all the big questions.

 

“Dunno and dunno.” Sol grins, although it is more like baring his fangs. “I figure that we'll steal some bastard's car or hitchhike or maybe take the bus up to France if you feel like dealing with the public transit ever again. Yeah, I remember what happened last time. And then we I dunno, we beat him up I guess?”

 

Testament sighs.

 

“Beat up a Major? On his own territory? Where he is loved and admired by humans and monsters alike?”

 

“Ya know, when you say it like that, it sounds a bit stupid.” The rogue snickers. “Whatever. We'll figure shit out. We always do.”

 

Another sigh.

 

“It can't hurt to have a plan though.”

 

“Don't be a baby.”

 

Testament shakes his head with a sigh.

 

“Fine Sol. Have it your way. But when these bodies of ours end up killed, I'm beating you up in Hell! And so is Naaham!” He groans.

 

Sol laughs again.

 

“Deal.” He smiles, lifting his cigarette to his lips again.

 

As they reach the edge of the forest, Testament stops short, a look of confusion striking his features as he stares beyond the trees. Even at his meandering 'badass' pace, Sol quickly catches up and makes it evident that he doesn't see what the other does.

 

“What're you looking at kid?” His voice drawls out, releasing a thin trail of smoke.

 

“An aura. I see an extremely strong aura in the distance.” The young man tilts his head.

 

And in that moment a car speeds past, the driver of which is flipping the bird at the two as a sort of taunt.

 

“You've gotta be shitting me. Was that a Changing Breed?” Sol asks a few seconds later.

 

“I... think?” Testament's brows knit together in confusion.

 

“The fuck?”

 

“I... I don't know. I think they were a powerful one that sensed we were divine creatures and must have mistaken us for Angels. So... they flipped us off? What do you think Naaham?”

 

The bird chirps a few times.

 

“She says she's heard about a guy going by that description in the news. Apparently he's a member of The Theocracy? Or something? I am extremely confused.” Testament murmurs.

 

“What a punk. Whatever. We don't have time for freaky Catholic Changing Breeds or whatever the hell he was. If he wants to fight us later on, then we'll fight him but beyond that, I don't give a fuck.”

 

For once, the young man agrees with his partner. There was no point in worrying about such things. Even if that guy were a threat, it's probably someone else's problem. They already have to deal with a Major. Not point in worrying about the rest of the damn organization, even if they were a part of some of the more prestigious sectors.

 

“Anyway kid, do you wanna go for public transit or hitchhiking first? Don't feel like robbing anyone just yet. Sides, that would make my Sin Counter go through the fucking roof.” Sol asks, shrugging off the bizarre event.

 

“No public transportation. Never again. Never again.” Testament shudders at the memory.

 

That was the first time he had killed someone in an emotionally weak vessel. The personality and memories that still lingered behind in it made the act more painful than he thought. On the train, someone had made the mistake of getting quite grabby with him and in response, he killed the man. It was instinct really but it had scarred a bus full of innocents and buried Sin deep inside of him. It took him all of the Crusades to work up Virtue again and only because off the immoral actions he committed in the name of his Mother.

 

“It'll be better this time. Sides, you need to learn to let things go.” Sol tried helping even though it was obvious to the both of them that it was futile.

 

Testament shakes his head and continues on his way, stepping out into the road. Naaham asks him if he requires her 'assistance' in netting a human. The young man politely declines as he lifts a thumb up, letting Naaham's tiny beak keep his staff upright.

 

“Kid, there isn't even any goddamn traffic. You're not gonna get a ride that easy.” His partner grumbles, taking yet another drag of the cigarette.

 

“It will work.” Testament insists.

 

“It won't.”

 

“It will.”

 

“It won't.”

 

Before the young man can snap out another reply, an old ambulance drives up the side of the road, parking so they can get in.

 

“Ah see, there!” Testament exclaims, a smile of pride crossing onto his face.

 

His partner shakes his head and sneers slightly, hating the fact that Testament was right where he was wrong.

 

“Probably some kind of creeper.” Sol mutters, flicking the cigarette into a wet puddle dripping just outside the forest.

 

The young man shakes his head and waits enthusiastically for the driver to leave their seat, or at least poke their head out from the car.

 

You can only imagine the shock on his face when the driver sticks out of the passenger's side, a paper bag covering all but one solitary, solid white eye as his neck twists and distorts inhumanly. The leering voice of the driver emits, echoing for miles. The two men stare towards him, their eyes wide with horror and their teeth gritted to prevent their mouths from dangling open. This only gets worse when the driver steps out of the car, reaching his full height of seven foot tall quite easily. At this point, Naaham allows the staff to fall out of her mouth, her beak open in shock at the man's straightjacket-esque lab coat and at the bulging barrel chest.

 

“The fuck is this?” Sol finally asks, breaking the silence that held over the fourth.

 

“The Original.” The man banters back, his voice surprisingly soft and his aura, surprisingly muted although it notably held a certain rage behind it. One that would never break through again, but still remained there.

 

“The fuck does _that_ mean?” The older man repeats himself.

 

“Nothing, nevermind that. Would you two like to travel with me? My vehicle has seen better days, yes, but I would be happy to take you wherever you like. Er, well as long as it isn't too far out of the way. I really can't go any farther than France. I have an appointment in Phantom City, you see. Very important.” The stranger mentions.

 

“France? Ah, I don't suppose you could get us all the way to Paris.” Testament mumbles, allowing himself to trust this man, after all his aura was fairly innocent, if full of death.

 

“I can take you to Paris. You are going to see The Holy Orders division, yes?” The stranger asks.

 

“Yeah.” Sol confirms, not seeming to care if this man knew or not.

 

“Ah. Well as luck would have it, I feel that area of the world needs some healing. In my stead, you two ought to provide it. So of course, I shall take you right up to the doors. They shant suspect an innocent ambulance of bearing any ill will. Not that I do of course.” The stranger's tone is suddenly quite upbeat. It seems he truly does have a friendly personality.

 

“Thank you.” Testament nods before turning to Sol. “Will you ride on the passenger's side, or should I?”

 

“Kids stay in the back.” Sol retorts with a grin.

 

The young man sighs as his partner enters the ambulance without a second thought. Testament opens the back of the white van and sits on the only remaining seat. He'd rather not sit on the bed, the scent of death on it would surely overwhelm him. And sitting on the bench next to it seemed too strange. So he sits, staring out the back of the video. Naaham chirps in his ear, asking him if she may return to her natural form. He shakes his head, not knowing if it was really safe for her to do that. With a pout, she returns to his shoulder before he realizes he's left his staff. He quickly bursts out of the ambulance, gaining a scornful look from his partner as he picks up the cracked, old stick and returns to his seat.

 

“Seriously? You were gonna forget your weapon? Ugh, kids.” Sol remarks, looking as if he needed another cigarette.

 

“You're the one that left Fireseal in the strip club. Twice.” Testament reminds the older man bitterly.

 

An incident neither of them wanted to revisit. Strip Clubs were already painful excursions for the divine but a vampire Strip Club? Too much to bear.

 

“Let it go kid.” His partner scoffs.

 

“Never.”

 

The stranger manages to squeeze himself back into the ambulance (in a way that causes Sol to scream about how gross it was) and starts the van up.

 

“Hmn, I suppose I should tell you two my name at the very least. Hello, I am Dr. Faust. A wandering doctor working in the interests of the greater good. Which at the moment, just so happens to involve picking up wayward hitchhikers.” Dr. Faust speaks with that happy tone again.

 

It is strangely reassuring. As if he were one of those truly good people. It was somewhat unnerving though as the aura of death still lingered and hung onto him.

 

“ _Perhaps he's just an unlucky Doctor”,_ Testament thinks.

 

That would surely explain it. He shakes all other thoughts out of his head.

 

“I am Testament. And the crow accompanying me, her name is Naaham.” He mentions, figuring he should at least return the formality. Not as if anyone could ever recognize him. He never leaves the forest after all.

 

Sol snorts.

 

“Sol Badguy. Bounty Hunter.” Testament sneers in disdain at the introduction. Sol tries so hard to seem like a badass but the truth is, he's really quite soft where it counts. It's almost ridiculous. Though, that's probably his intention. To seem as ridiculous as possible so no one can see the flaws where they count.

 

“Oh? Sol Badguy? What a familiar name!” The doctor remarks, humming some sort of tune to himself.

 

“Huh, familiar how?” Sol asks and by the sound of it, he's just put his feet on the dashboard.

 

“Ah, I don't think I should say.” The man laughs to himself, full of a knowledge he's rather proud of. “It might be uncomfortable.”

 

His partner audibly shrugs.

 

“Whatever.” Even though he says it like that, it's obvious that he's curious to know what that man does. Sol always had such an analytical man. Or maybe it was that scientist's body that was altering his personality. Bodies had a nasty habit of doing that and while Testament loves the one he's in, he still mourns the continual loss of his identity.

 

Perhaps one day, he'll be a complete person. Maybe that shall be his ascension, the ability to live a full life without any worries of the future, to remain whole. Or perhaps he is forever destined to kill himself. It's hard to tell at this point. There is hardly any hope left after all and the hope that did remain, the faith, came from those sinful Theocracy bastards that took their God's word too literally. At least, the one's he's come across do. He longs to tell them that their extremism helps no one but they don't lend their ears to him. He is but a memory of times long since past, a relic from The Crusades. Who is he to talk on morality when he committed those crimes along with them? Who is he to comment on Sin when he fell from Grace because of it? He is nothing but a hypocrite and he accepts it. Perhaps a little too much.

 

There he goes again. Perhaps. Maybe. All of those words are far too vague for his liking. There is too much gray space there. He misses the time when things were black and white. Everything was so simple. But there were no brown eyes in heaven. There was no skin as dark as the night with highlights that even the moonlight could not resist. And there was certainly no love. The love that Mother gave upon to him was the closest thing to true feelings that he had felt at that time. Now that he has fallen, he truly knows what it feels like to love. Even the suffering that comes with it is lovely as long as he can keep feeling. He shakes his head. He's such an idiot. But neither he nor Naaham really care at this point. They have gone too far. No, they already went too far. When he embraced that woman and allowed her eyes to lull him to sleep, when she spoke to that woman entranced within the night and called her 'beautiful' they made their choices to deny Paradise. And though they miss their homes, as any ordinary beings would, they would never return to Paradise if given the choice. To have these lovely emotions removed, that would be awful.

 

He finds himself nodding off into his thoughts; head lulling against his chest. He clutches tightly onto his staff, trying desperately to keep awake before he hears the soothing voice of his Familiar inside of his head.

 

“Tessie, please rest. It will be many days before you actually reach the city. So it's for the best if you rest as much as possible. There's no need to do anything else.” She speaks so softly.

 

He nods slowly and allows the staff to fall to the ground. His head thumps against his chest as he awaits the merciful Kings and Queens of dreams to allow him peace today. He smiles softly at a pleasant dream of former times as the van continues to bump along on their long journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing much to say. Lukewarm. I like endings and middles more, I find beginnings hard. I hope my lukewarm-ness is not too noticeable.


	6. Nothing Out of the Ordinary

Killing Dogs

Nothing Out of the Ordinary

 

_He found a severed head in his backyard the Saturday morning after his father left home. He worried if it was his. It was so heavily rotted and mutilated that he could not identify who it belonged to so he assumed the worst. The only parts that weren't just grizzle was the mouth (lips almost completely intact and it appeared that the tongue was fine as well) and single brown eye that bore into his brain as if it still had the power of a gaze behind it. As soon as his eyes met with that of the deceased, an overwhelming urge to touch that eye overcame him and without even knowing what he was doing, he stabbed a tiny, pink forefinger into that glassy eye. The rotten brown blood oozed out over his finger, coating the pink in a brilliant mud like shade that was somehow still quite aesthetically pleasing._

 

_The boy stared confused at what had just occurred and attempted to remove his dirtied finger from the socket only for the corpse's lips (what was left of them at least) began to move as if the head had returned to life._

 

“ _You're that raven again.” The body sneered, it's voice androgynous and devoid of any identifying characteristics. “I told you. I have no more secrets. Now let me return to Our Mother. If that's fine with you.”_

 

“ _A raven did this to you?” The little boy asked, his voice so full of amazement._

 

_Well of course it was amazing. All the ravens he spoke to on Saturday mornings, peering in through the window at him as they moved their beaks as if conversing to one another in a language he couldn't understand, they were always so small and so kindly that he could hardly believe they could do this to a grown person._

 

_The head laughed heartily – despite having neither lungs nor vocal chords – at the idea that ravens were anything less than monsters. The Corax were nothing more than cowards to them._

 

“ _Yes, boy. A raven did this to me. Because I had refused to divulge some secrets to it, it killed me and stole my eye away. You've taken the other one but don't worry, I don't hate you for it. In fact, I'd like to ask something of you little boy.” The head tried to smile but it came out more like some zombie-esque grimace. “Please, take this head of mine and leave it somewhere where the sun and moon shine frequently. I want to rest but I'm afraid I can't leave from this body until I bid farewell to my dear Mother and Father.”_

 

_The boy remained confused. Not only at how the corpse claimed that one of those kindly ravens was responsible for such a crime but at the last wishes of the body. Regardless, he complied and took the head up to the roof of his house. His mother wasn't home today (actually, he can't remember the last time he's seen her) so there was no one to scream at him for bringing a dirty thing into the house._

 

_The head had such a repugnant smell. It smelled like carrion and like rotting snakes but it looked kinda nice perched on the roof of the house, it's ichor shining in the sunlight._

 

“ _Thank you.” The voice mumbled out, voice wavering with a sadness behind it._

 

“ _Not a problem!” The little boy replied, smiling ever so gently._

 

_He sat out there with that head, conversing, for a number of hours until the moon's brilliant light struck it straight on and in a language that he had no way of understanding, the Mother of the Earth's Children spoke out in a light, tingling voice to that corpse. And even though the little boy did not quite understand what was happening, he still smiled quite brightly when he noticed that the corpse's eye had finally closed._

 

-*-

He refers to that smile as his 'Million Dollar Smile'. He claims that it has the power to charm anyone but the results for this claim are tragically low (it works approximately zero percent of the time). Not like he minds. He'll keep trying that smile until the day it works and claim a hundred percent track record regardless. Although, deep down he knows it's a silly thing, he much prefers being seen as slightly silly than having anyone figure out that dirty little secret of his (the secret has a dark brown colour, like rotten blood that is sometimes as black as a raven's feathers.).

 

He holds another eye in his hand tonight, crushing it effortlessly in his palm. He feels a bit guilty for the act but the truth remains that he needs to do it to live at this point. He needs all the knowledge he can get if he's going to find the bird he's descended from. He needs to understand this power of his in it's entirety and the only way that can happen is if he asks the Corax themselves. But, Changing Breeds as a whole are rare. The Corax are ridiculously uncommon. Plus, most of the ones he _could_ find were birds that could turn into humans. Not the other way around like he needed. So their English language skills were... poor at best. So now, the only thing he can do is find the relative that passed on the raven's blood to him and ask them about it. It's unfortunate that at the moment, he has no idea where that raven could possibly be. Or really, where any raven could be.

 

He looks around the city centre. He's gotten lost today too. He really should start buying maps of the cities he visits but yeah know, he doesn't have that much cash to spend. Most of that money has to go to public transit or food or making periodic phone calls to the police about murders he's accidentally solved. But damn if those maps wouldn't be helpful. He really doesn't even know which city he's in at this point. He knows he's at the border between Italy and France but not much else. And he's being wary about Italy right now because he heard that a branch of The Assassin's Guild was operating in Milano. He has no idea where that is in relation to where he currently is but if he had to hazard a guess, far enough away that he didn't have to bother with any guild people. Thank the Wyld for that.

 

The young man presses a hand against the large, golden slab of metal adorning the direct centre of the centre. Interestingly, it appears to have the bus routes engraved on it. He wasn't quite sure why they were making such a big deal about bus schedules but those Italians were always a weird bunch. He gathers his mental reserves and ignores the creepy looking depictions of angels (a pair of flat chested men clad in nothing but flowing skirts, with long wings that frame the engravings) surrounding the sheet. Pretending like they aren't there, he follows the bus line to where he is. Ah, look, he's in Aosta. Relatively close to France and... only a bus trip while away from Milano. Great.

 

He sighs and leans against the metal, hoping that he won't have to deal with either the Guild or any wayward gangbangers. While he can fight, he's still only human and fighting against those magically enhanced guild guys or those Ghoul Gangs would be suicide. Mostly because of how _tired_ he is. He can't remember the last time he got a good night of sleep. He's been having frequent recurring nightmares all revolving around his girlfriend, who he hasn't seen in months and is also on the lookout for, and besides that, sleeping on bus benches really hurts your back. For once, he'd just like to get a good night's rest, a nice meal and a day without trouble. It seems every day he's nearly getting killed over something or other. Whether it's a group of muggers or some Thin Bloods looking for some quick grub, it's always the same. And he still hasn't found any of the people he's been looking for. What a waste. This entire journey's just been a waste. All this time and he hasn't made any progress.

 

With another sigh, he stands up and adjusts his jeans. His underwear hangs too low down and his pants, too high up so the back stitching is constantly digging into the upper regions of his buttocks and the result is discomfort and itching. He should have worn something more comfortable.

 

Shaking his head, he walks towards a nearby bus stop. If he doesn't hurry up, there's no way he'll get to Albania before, whatever is going on goes on. Back in London, he had heard there was something going on down there but he hasn't a clue exactly what's going on, why's it's going on or who's causing it to go on. The corpse that told him about it was a Malkavian and the brain's circuitry was so malformed that he couldn't understand a word they were saying beyond well, the location.

 

Oh and look, just his luck. On the bench is a figure huddled up in a blanket. Probably another mugger or some wanted criminal knowing his luck. But this is the only nearby station and he'll be damned if he wants to walk around in the goddamn dead of night looking for another one. He'll end up kidnapped again. Or worse. Gathering his mental reserves, he takes a seat beside the figure and keeps quiet, hoping they're sleeping or something.

 

No such luck.

 

“Hey.” The figure mutters, his (his?) tone fairly cheerful despite his situation, as he sits up.

 

“Uh, hey.” Axl nods back, flashing that million dollar smile of his in the hopes that the guy will go away.

 

“You look lost.” He replies, not seeming to get the hint.

 

“I'm not. Don't worry.” The awkwardness drips off of him.

 

“No you are. But, not in the physical sense. Yeah, I definitely know that face you're making. You're looking for someone. Well, I know a lot of people around this city, if you tell me who, or what, I could probably help you out kid.” The figure replies, adjusting his blankets so they fall off his face.

 

He's... a Metis, Axl realizes with a shock. While the albinism in and of itself wouldn't be such a big tip-off, the overwhelming scent of dog and the current pair of wolf ears make it obvious he's a werewolf (probably a Bone Gnasher) and as genetic deformities aren't found in ordinary werewolves, he must be Metis. That means the poor fellow's probably been kicked out of his home and is sleeping at the bus stop because nobody wants to take him in for fear he is a sign of the end times (they've been saying that since Rome fell), now he feels _bad_ for trying to avoid the guy.

 

“I'm looking for a Corax. Don't suppose you'd happen to know of any?” The young man asks, a tad too harshly.

 

The Metis shakes his head then stops for a few seconds, staring blankly. Suddenly, his eyes light up with recognition.

 

“Actually you know, I do. Some bastard literally called Raven's up in Barcelona. Apparently he's working for some kind of Brothel that specializes in hardcore shit. Good to see if you want info. Or a good time.”

 

Axl barely hides his look of disgust. Not at the profession of the raven, there are worse things to be, but at the idea that he'd want to go have sex with a bird. I mean, he doesn't have anything against them but feathery pubes were the worst. Besides, the guy might be related to him.

 

“Uh, thanks.” He smiles politely and nods, not really sure how to talk to Metis considering the Corax don't have them.

 

The werewolf smiles back, bearing a row of sharp, yellowing fangs.

 

“Not a problem.” He grins before wrapping the blanket over himself, falling down and presumably returning to sleep.

 

Axl scratches his head and stands up. While he would stay longer and chat, he's got to go drop by Barcelona. And speaking of going, the bus is running late. He shrugs and assumes it's not coming, taking a step into the road he wonders where he should go next only for the late bus to come barreling down.

 

“ _I'm going to die cause of a bus? How anticlimatic.”_ He thinks, expecting his mind to go blank soon.

 

Thankfully, it just barely stops short; not because of him though. Which he realizes soon after a pair of blood stained people crawl out from the bus. There's a woman with long pink hair tied back in a high ponytail (she's missing one eye and an arm but that just adds to her appeal!) and the white of her kimono is stained in blood. Oh and a man dressed like a stripper but he's faaaar less interesting compared to her. At least in Axl's own mind. He does take note that the man has some impressive musculature and briefly entertains the notion that they might be dating. He decides against it and figures that (somehow) he still has a chance with her, despite her eye candy partner.

 

“Ghouls. It's always those fucking ghouls kid.” The woman sneers, pulling a long, green and white pipe out from her kimono.

 

Despite having nearly died, at the sound of her voice, Axl launches himself towards her but stops when he catches her male companion staring him down through that white veil of hair.

 

“Hi there!” He announces, waving his arm in an attempt to seem especially friendly.

 

The woman laughs at him, a very deep belly laugh that appears to come from her soul. He sees this as a sign of approval.

 

“Hey boy.” She nods her head in his direction, examining the pipe with her good eye. “What are you doing in a place like this?”

 

“I was waiting for the bus.” Well it's not even really a lie.

 

“Sucks to be you then.” She remarks, sneering at the pipe as if it were some kind of family disappointment.

 

She places it back into her kimono and stares him dead in the eyes.

 

“Did you want something?” She asks.

 

He opens his mouth to speak but catches sight of her male companion produce a shining white pool ball. He frowns and stares at the two. The woman's actually quite short but for some reason she seems like she's looking down on him while the man, also fairly short, appears much taller than he actually is. He's almost intimidating. In fact, that eye covering his hair and that tattoo on that woman's face make them look like... Guild People. Fuck.

 

“Are you like Guild?!” He blurts out in something of a panic, stepping away from them.

 

The woman laughs that belly laugh again.

 

“Guild? Nah, my name's Baiken. You must have mistaken me for someone else.” She says with a glint in her eyes. “But in all seriousness, neither of us are Guild. I'm a Hunter and Venom, he's just some kid I picked up. He was unconscious in a field. For some reason.”

 

While that is only moderately reassuring, the blonde takes comfort in the fact that they aren't here to kill him at least. Besides, pretty girls only get prettier if you know the kinds of habits they have. So what if she kills vampires for a living? That's still pretty charming.

 

“I'm Axl Low!~” The Englishman flashes his award winning smile towards the woman, hoping today is the day it works. It doesn't and she laughs at him again.

 

“What a ridiculous name. Whatever.” She says. “Sorry we wrecked the bus system. If you want, we could give you a ride to make up for it. For a nominal fee of course.”

 

“Ah, well first off, where are you going?” He isn't too pleased about having to part with his hard earned cash but damn it, she's so compelling!

 

“Barcelona. Then me and this kid are going to Tirana.” Baiken replies.

 

With a grin, Axl walks up to her and shakes her remaining hand.

 

“What luck! I'm going to Barcelona too!” Another smile.

 

She laughs at him, again, and shakes back.

 

“Great. Now all we've got to do is find ourselves a car. Or even better, a truck.” She drops Axl's hand and turns to her companion. “Got any bright ideas?”

 

Taking out a pen and paper, he begins writing rather quickly in a curvy font.

 

“ _If I remember correctly, then just a few miles away from here, their should be a rest stop. I recommend that we enter the area and 'borrow' one of the many trucks there. By the time they realize we have taken it, we ought to be on the road. If we drive quickly, but not too quickly as we don't want any tickets, we should cross the border before anything too unfortunate occurs. I will use a touch of Arcane to assist.”_ He scribbles down, the flowery writing and precise language giving Axl the idea that he's speaking to some kind of rich boy.

 

“Sounds fine to me.” The woman shrugs. “You lead the way. I'll watch the new kid.”

 

Axl smiles yet again, this time out of nervousness, and follows the lead of those too. Going off with a couple of strangers was pretty weird, yes, but by this point, it was nothing out of the ordinary. So he dashes off into the night with the two of them, leaving his life in their (presumably) capable hands. He only prays that he hasn't misjudged them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Debut queue is the best way to set up characters but it makes things tedious at first. A necessary weasel.


	7. Exceptional Routine Work

Killing Dogs

Exceptional Routine Work

 

_Her first kill was almost entirely unremarkable. It was a Ghoul working underneath a branch of the SS that was tasked with taking her to a 'safe place for the Japanese' and it's blood came out like lukewarm water. The only notable thing about it was that she was only ten years old when she cut through that neck as if it were softened butter, her strength augmented by the hatred that had fused itself with her heart and her steel. Yes, that child of only a decade of age sliced through meat and bone effortlessly, killed not just a man but a monster just like that. It was obvious within that moment that she was destined to be something great, to be a warrior of Divine Retribution. If only she believed in such things. To this girl (and this woman), there was no such thing as 'Divine', only creatures she couldn't kill, and no such thing as 'retribution', there is only the blood red spirit known as revenge that tattoos itself across the very essence of your being._

 

_She spat into the puddle of lukewarm blood, sneering at it's water-like consistency. The fight had ended before it even begun and that was not enough to satisfy the blood lust that was thrust upon her. Clad in little more than bandages and the bottom of a kimono she had stolen, disrespecting the dead and spitting upon graves as blood stained her face and her hand, she looked like some kind of monster. She smiled at the thought. She wanted nothing more than to become monstrous, to engage in this wrath. There was nothing else to her life at this point. But rationality still remained and with a deep set sigh, she sounded so much older than she was, she stripped the body of it's coat and wrapped it around her shoulder. The purple lining was so warm. Warmer than the blood was._

 

_Taking her new clothing in hand, she set out to find herself a place to stay for the night. She had to move quickly before someone realized what she had done to that man. Sheathing her sword and gathering her mental reserves, she takes off into the night, running as if Hell itself were chasing her, the thrill of the night infusing her, the moonshine radiating off her and the blood stained resolution making it's mark._

 

_And from the Heavens, the Gods were quite sure they had made the right choice to bless her so._

 

-*-

 

She begrudgingly boards the bus (Bus to goddamn Barcelona. Apparently, the kid has contacts there, she's not too thrilled about it but it's not like they have any other leads regarding well, anything) , frowning at her silent companion. She'd much rather walk but he was absolutely insistent on using the public transit. She chocks it up to his shoes. While they do look fairly stylish, they are hideously impractical. One thigh high and one loafer, why would he even wear that? She shakes her head. Maybe it's a kind of uniform. Although she isn't sure who would require the boy to wear such an outfit. It had absolutely no practical value beyond showing off his (admittedly toned) body and it was definitely hindering their progress. Although, it didn't seem to hinder him much when he pinched that art pad and pencil off some street artist doodling by the side of the road. The guy didn't even see him despite it being broad daylight and Venom being the only other person on the road. She wonders what the kid could do if he had the proper gear. Ha, then he'd probably be a threat.

 

Well, that's wrong. He is a threat; just not to her.

 

His movements are deliberately slow and his reflexes are strangely slow. While he might think that makes him seem like a non-threat (and to most people, magic or not, it does) she knows better. She is suspicious of the quick witted and the quick footed but the quick witted and the slow footed? She's, for all intents and purposes, scared of them. She never knows what they're planning or what they want and that is quite a frightening prospect. It just pisses her off so much when she looks at this boy. The mystery, the grace, surrounding him reminded her too much of the other kid. At least this one always kept a serious personality and an air of introversion behind him. If he was more friendly, more open, she probably wouldn't have taken him with her. She's had more than enough experience with curious men to know that they can't be trusted. While she doesn't trust this 'Venom' much either, she at least believes that if he had to choose between becoming one of those monsters and dying, he'd die. She isn't really sure why she believes that. Something about him just made her believe that although he may have the killing spirit, he still believes in sympathy and mercy, two things that she's given up. She supposes that in this regard, this kid and the other one are quite the same. A pair of little boys trying to pull her back up from the edge of morality. Damn, what was that quote again? It was from some famous writer from forever ago but it's been repeated thousands of times over. Ah, nevermind. It doesn't really matter that much. Besides, she's never been much of an intellectual anyway. Those little boys can bother with intellect and reason, she doesn't need it. She only needs what she can touch, what she can kill. Nothing more is needed. That other kid would definitely disagree. In fact, he'd debate with her about this kind of stuff. This kid, maybe because of his Mutism, was much better company in that regard.

 

She pushes the fallen memories out of the side of her head and takes a seat beside her companion. She's been standing, staring off into space for a good five minutes or so you know but nobody bothers commenting on it. They probably just assumed she was some sort of madwoman and let it be. Then again, she might be mad. Not like she ever saw a therapist in her forty years of life. And surely her painful childhood could not have helped her mental state any. Maybe she should go see a shrink some time. Ha, she'd probably just kill the poor Doctor. There's nothing she hates more than people trying to tell her what to do. Anyone that bosses her around becomes intolerable quite quickly. Well, there is always one exception.

 

She shakes her head vigorously and turns to her companion. He's staring out from a thin curtain of bright white hair, his nose poking out from between the strands as he thoughtfully examines the tanned paper in his hands. His fingers almost lovingly trace the paper with a certain sense of sadness behind them. It appears that while she was staring off into space, he's doodled several flowers on the front page of the pad.

 

“Nice drawings kid.” She says, almost desperate to stop the sudden melancholy. There was no point in them both being miserable after all.

 

The boy glances at her through his hair, a solitary blue eye watering with tears and hardening with ice searches her face. In return, the she struggles to make it look as welcoming as possible.

 

He cocks his head and starts furiously scribbling.

 

“ _Thank you. I don't draw often. Work always got in the way.”_ He replies.

 

“Work? Where do you even work?” She asks.

 

“ _I can't say.”_ The boy writes the words a little firmer than usual. He's obviously keeping secrets from her.

 

“Whatever. As long as it doesn't effect me, I don't care.” She shrugs.

 

He nods slowly and returns to his drawing of a multitude of flowers. She isn't even sure what kinds of flowers these were but what she did know is that they were quite overly realistic. As if he drew nothing but flowers. Well, maybe he worked at a florist shop or something and was just some really unlucky kid but she doubts it. These mundane hobbies of his only added to the mystery. If he preferred to draw ancient weaponry or something like that, then she'd be more at ease. The most ordinary people are the most dangerous, she's realized. That is because they try their hardest to seem as ordinary as possible. She has naught a doubt in her head that he's trying to cultivate an image of harmlessness. But the innocence behind his gaze, the sadness, that was definitely real. What an enigma.

 

He starts to scribble underneath the flowers he's draw.

 

“ _Gypsophilia Paniculata, Camellia, Syzygium Aromaticum, Hyacinthus Orientalis, Zinnia.”_ The words are carefully positioned and written, it's obvious he has had a fair bit of practice with calligraphy.

 

“What's that mean?” The woman asks, she's never been a fan of flowers.

 

He flips to another page, his hand lingering on the final picture for a bit too long.

 

“ _It does not mean anything important. It is... simply a memory now.”_ The writing is far more rushed this time, he doesn't want to talk about it she supposes.

 

“I understand.”

 

He smiles from beneath that curtain and gets to work on the next set of flowers. Looks like he wants some privacy.

 

She turns from him and looks towards the driver. The man's aura has taken on the aura of lukewarm blood suddenly. The traces of resolution and human compassion draining from the air and being replaced with the menacing taste of softening iron. She places a hand on her blade almost instinctively and turns to her comrade.

 

“Hey kid, look out the front window, bet you've never seen something like _that_ before.” She says, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible for someone such as herself.

 

The boy appears to get the message regarding the situation and closes his sketchbook gently, shoving it into his strange shirt/jacket thing where it vanishes. A cool trick, Baiken notes, she ought to learn how he does it.

 

Venom cautiously produces his pool cue from his left sleeve, another cool trick. Baiken cracks her neck and walks up behind the bus driver, her blade crying out for a taste of that sinful lukewarm blood.

 

“Hey.” She sneers down at him, the (very) few passengers on the bus looking up from what they were doing to stare at the scene. It seems all of them are very much magic too as they seem more curious than frightened. “What do you think you're doing little monster?”

 

The man takes one look at her blade and swears under his breath, Venom's face lights up with recognition but he doesn't say a word.

 

“My job.” He snarls back at her, the influence of the bloodsucker seeping out into his mannerisms.

 

For once, she wouldn't feel guilty about this. Lasombra ghouls were nothing more than peons who would gladly kill their lovers and companions for one more quick shot of blood. What worthless souls.

 

“Haha, that's really funny. Cause you see for me, this is just some exceptional routine work.” She draws her blade quickly, getting into her attack position easily.

 

The ghoul stares at the blade, his eyes growing wide as he realizes exactly what threat she possesses. She figures he's never really seen a hunter before. Well, he can tell all of his friends about it in Hell.

 

The ghoul stands up, leaving the bus hurtling down the road at top speeds.

 

“Fuck!” A white haired man cries out, running towards the driver's seat to prevent a crash from killing them all and several outside persons.

 

Baiken shrugs internally.

 

“ _Fine, he can deal with that.”_ She muses as she takes a few hops backwards, careful not to lose sigh on her opponent.

 

“Careful there Good Guy!” Some kind of Nyan girl in a hood cries out, shoving past the two warriors to get to her buddy at the control panel.

 

The ghoul takes the opportunity to lunge towards the samurai but misses his attack, landing his fist instead on the musculature of her companion. Before he can even truly realize his mistake, the boy takes his pool cue and strikes the ghoul directly over the head, sending him reeling backwards as lukewarm blood flows onto the ground. The ghoul smacks into the front of the bus, causing the current driver to scream out.

 

'Fuck off!” He snaps, slapping the ghoul right into Baiken's still drawn blade.

 

The liberal slash of lukewarm blood coats the four passengers and the majority of the insides of the bus as the ghoul slums down to the ground, screaming in pain.

 

The woman removes her blade and spits down on him.

 

“Scum.” She remarks, cutting off his head as if it were made of marzipan.

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” The driver screams, slamming on the break just shy of hitting some pedestrian. “Get the FUCK out of the way _man_!”

 

The bus lurches to a halt, slamming both her and her companion into the wall and nearly impaling them with her sword.

 

The driver sighs in relief and hits the doors, happy just to get the two of them out. He looks at Baiken, his mismatched eyes reflecting all the stress in the world. She can sympathize. She's sure she looks back at him the same way. But still, the show must go on and without even a few words of goodbye between them, she hops out the side of the bus. Venom jumps down beside her, dematerializing his pool cue before he even hits the ground.

 

“Ghouls. It's always those fucking ghouls kid.” She sneers, pulling her pipe out of her kimono. She really needs a smoke right now. Just a quick hit.

 

Damn, she can't find her lighter, where did she put it? She starts searching through her kimono when a voice approaches.

 

“Hi there!” It says, causing Baiken to turn around and glance at the owner.

 

Some blond kid of slightly below average height is waving towards her as if she was some sort of celebrity. It seems like the blood covering her doesn't bother him at all. What a freak. Even so, his aura is interesting so she'll humour him, despite Venom looking less than impressed. Though, the situation was a bit funny so she laughs, if only to lighten the mood a little.

 

“Hey boy.” She nods in his direction, examining her pipe to see if there was even anything left to smoke in it. “What are you doing in a place like this?”

 

Cheesy, maybe, but almost always effective.

 

“I was waiting for the bus.” He explains, pointing towards the steaming, bloody wreckage.

 

God, it probably wasn't even functional. The breaks must be shot from such a hasty stop. But still, it was pretty funny.

 

“Sucks to be you then.” She remarks with a secret grin though it quickly fades when she realizes there's neither Marijuana nor tobacco in her pipe.

 

She places it back in her kimono, sneering as if it were nothing more than common junk. She turns her head up to face him and looks him dead in the eye.

 

“Did you want something?” She asks, deciding that it's not so interesting after all. She could do without the trouble.

 

Seems he isn't getting the hint so Venom does her a favour and produces a pool ball from what must be thin air.

 

“ _Haha, the kid has so many cool tricks, he might as well be a goddamn magician.”_ She thinks, twitching ever so slightly at the absurd magics that must be used to do such a thing.

 

The blonde kid looks rather panicked and takes a few steps backwards.

 

“Are you, like, Guild?!” He asks, eyes growing wide with fear. The appropriate response at last.

 

But still so funny so she laughs again.

 

“Guild? Nah, my name's Baiken. You must have mistaken me for someone else.” She grins with an unsheathed madness behind her eye, she can have a sense of humour sometimes. “But in all seriousness, neither of us are Guild. I'm a Hunter and Venom, he's just some kid I picked up. He was unconscious in a field. For some reason.”

 

He looks somewhat relieved at that and his fear suddenly turns into overwhelming joy. She figures the boy is some kind of idiot and prepares herself to stop him stone cold before he starts speaking again.

 

“I'm Axl Low!~” He leans towards her, grinning as if there was no trouble in the world.

 

Kind of charming so she won't punch him after all. If only because he was funny.

 

“What a ridiculous name.” She remarks with amusement in her voice. “Whatever.”

 

She examines the aura again, finding it more interesting than before. It has quite a few layers to it and each one is more strange than the last and yet, the boy seems almost entirely unaware of it. It be a shame if she let him go. He'd get himself killed easily with such an open demeanor and he has some strength beside him so she'll do what that other kid would have done and take him with her.

 

“Oh yeah, sorry we fucked up the bus.” She mumbles, trying to keep a somewhat friendly tone. “If you want, we could give you a ride to make up for it. For a nominal fee, of course.”

 

The blonde's face lights up again.

 

“Ah, well first off, where are you going?” He asks, grinning like a little boy.

 

Honesty was the best policy this time around, she figures.

 

“Barcelona. Then me and this kid are going to Tirana.” She explains.

 

Still grinning, the kid walks down the road and slams his hand into her remaining one.

 

“What luck! I'm going to Barcelona too!” He flashes that ridiculous smile that he must think is oh so charming again and she can't help but laugh at the sight.

 

She wonders if he knows how impossible it is to take him seriously. Probably not. So out of pity, she shakes back, smiling like a fox.

 

“Great. Now all we've gotta do is find ourselves a car. Or even better, a truck.” She drops the blonde's hand and turns to Venom. “Got any bright ideas?”

 

He begins scribbling faster than usual and soon enough, a decent sized paragraph has made itself apparent.

 

“ _If I remember correctly, then just a few miles away from here, their should be a rest stop. I recommend that we enter the area and 'borrow' one of the many trucks there. By the time they realize we have taken it, we ought to be on the road. If we drive quickly, but not too quickly as we don't want any tickets, we should cross the border before anything too unfortunate occurs. I will use a touch of Arcane to assist.”_ He scratches down, his writing far less fanciful than usual. He must be in a rush.

 

“Sounds fine to me.” She shrugs. “You lead the way. I'll watch the new kid.”

 

Venom nods and heads towards the truck stop, towing both her and boy along. She glances at the blonde's strange aura once again. It was eerily familiar but she couldn't quite place it. But she knew that this boy was far more powerful than he lets on. She shakes her head. No point in dealing with those kinds of things right now. She has an old friend to meet, after all.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second real cameo. Can you guess all the characters? Well, this one was easy, LOL.


	8. Drunkard Does Make Wise Remarks

Drunkard Does Make Wise Remarks

 

_His hands gripped ever so tightly to the hilt of that silver blade, the force of the storm running throughout his entire body. Within that moment, he had most tragically become Awakened and all of the world's mysteries lay in front of him, ready to be taken, to be used. He extended his hand towards his opponent, crimson blood with the texture of mucus running down from his nose and cracked lip onto the uniform stained a dark red by the blood of the fallen that had dared to interrupt such a noble battle between such noble rivals (whom never wished such things as misfortune or tragedy upon one another and treated each other like comrades rather than enemies despite their various disagreements regarding how a soldier must behave.)._

 

“ _Have I proven my worth to you, my Lady?” He asked in a mocking tone, yet his voice was so light with jest._

 

_The woman laughed from her chest, her skin tight uniform heaving with her bosom._

 

“ _Yeah kid. You definitely have.” She smiled, baring a pair of brilliant, yellowing teeth at the boy._

 

_Despite it being a (seeming) defiance against all that he was taught and has ever known, he found that brutal, animalistic woman of the night, that always smelt of sweat and cigarette smoke, to be far more beautiful than the women that blushed and faltered before him as he was taught a lady should. Though they were chaste and righteous, truly products of their upbringing, he could not find any attraction to them. They knew nothing of war, of hope, of freedom and although he can scarcely blame them, (twas not their fault that their fathers and their brothers and even their sons refused them freedom and treated them as if they were naught more than children undeserving of either hope or love) he still did not consider them potential wives. Simply, he had nothing in common with them but blood and the Church itself. This woman was not demure at all and knew nothing of insecurity but her blood boiled with the intoxicating mixture of war and freedom so while she may have been a heathen, he could not draw himself away from her no matter how he tried._

 

_He drew a cloth from his pocket and wiped his face, the remnants of his lukewarm blood staining it a brilliant crimson._

 

“ _Did you get hurt?” He asked, staring into those passionate eyes (that burnt with a righteous fire) of hers head on, showing more respect to her than his fellow men did._

 

_The woman chuckled lightly, having calmed down from the battle. Her voice was so deep and strong, tempered and cracked by the tobacco and by her own inner flames, that she sounded quite masculine. And yet, he found that masculinity endearing and could not find fault in it either. Surely, surely, his men were to mock him for this most noble crush he had developed on such an older woman. But, he would gladly endure the taunting if it meant he could spend another day with her. Her smile and the light of hope he inspired within the people, those were the only things that kept him from going mad on that godforsaken crusade._

 

“ _Of course not. But it looks like you did, boy.” She smiled, a truthful, joyful smile that felt as if a thousand suns were gifting him with all the warmth and love they could muster._

 

_He melted at the sight and swooned as a maiden would (not befitting of a warrior in the slightest). And when she touched his back, a friendly pat and surely nothing more, he nearly fainted. His cheeks flushed red and his body grew hot as he first experienced what he what later learn was 'Desire'._

 

-*-

How amusing that he finds himself at the mercy of a being made from that very desire. God, he feels sick at the sight of this Changeling. He still isn't sure what he had expected when his superiors told him of a Changeling that was made from the dreams of the Theocracy. Well, he had a basic idea. He had expected dreams of righteousness, dreams of nobility, dreams of charity, creation, love, beauty not, not this. Not such a hedonistic monster that takes his entire organization in vain. And even so, Fair One dares have the new to call his own chastity into question. If this Changeling were not so connected to the underworld of Magic then he would not hesitate to strike him down here and now just to make that smug, all knowing smile cease. Unfortunately, things can not be so black and white so he swallows his pride and takes another step towards the beast.

 

The Changeling looks nothing short of barbaric, not what he expected at all (of all the Fair Ones he's seen over the years, not a single one has had such a disheveled appearance, not even the filthy Slaugh that invested the waste lands. Their clothes were at least modest and lovely, the fabrics draped so softly.). The shaggy, sandy blonde hair covering his chest, face and head – the extremely unkempt beard makes him look like the sort of fellow that fucks off to the mountains and is never seen again – is only outdone by the long, curly hair coating his legs and tail. His hooves are similarly filthy as are the majority of the Changeling children aboard this ship of his. Their hands covered in chocolate and their skirts, scandalously short. Just what kind of operation is he running here? He does not even have the decency to remove his hat and sunglasses, or put on a shirt, in front of an officer!

 

“Are you honestly telling me that you are the product of my men's--” He stutters out.

 

“Wet dreams? Or if you prefer, snoregasms.” The Satyr replies, grinning from ear to ear as if this were amusing.

 

Ky is ready to start shrieking at the bastard but remembers that he must stay calm. He takes a deep breath and tries to remember how to have a polite conversation.

 

“Let's not speak about this.” He says trying not to reveal any more emotions through either his face or tone. “I have come here on unrelated business.”

 

The Changeling smirks at the sight, enraging him further.

 

“Ohhhhh? Have you come here to live out those dirty fantasies of yours with little old me? Sorry kiddo, but you're much too young for me. I like my men like I like my women, experienced.” His voice comes out so mockingly.

 

“No.” Ky states coldly and plainly, voice betraying the pent up wrath and draining some of the glare of the illusion. “I have come here under holy orders to ask of you several questions regarding The Midnight Carnival. I would greatly appreciate it if you would answer them without any more flirtation. I'm on a tight schedule, you see.”

 

“Ohhhh, I seeeee.” The man doesn't reveal any emotions beyond those sunglasses, just an unrelenting smile of what could be pride. “I'll make this quick for you then.”

 

The officer twitches internally, the way that last sentence was structured... it was strangely seductive. Surely that was the power of the Satyr, the ability to allure and seduce the pure. He grips tightly to one of the golden crosses around his neck with his free hand (gripping so tight that his knuckles turn white, thank God that his uniform includes gloves), not wanting to show any signs of desire.

 

“Where are they located?” The time for pleasantries is over and now getting to the point is the most important thing.

 

“Barcelona. Although, I've got to wonder why the Theocracy are investigating some 'lowly' Brothel. Could it be that you're here on personal reasons after all?” The man replies, his voice so smooth despite the questions he was asking and the persona he was putting on. At least, Ky thinks it's a persona. At this point, he's not so sure anymore.

 

“Just answer the questions.” He snaps, his own sudden burst of emotion catching him off guard and drawing him out of his thoughts.

 

The Changeling sighs and sits upright, shifting his legs back to a human pair, clad in tight pants and a pair of boots, relatively easily without even a display of glamour. Ky can feel the force of the other's gaze on him through those glasses and nearly recoils. The Fair Ones always made him so nervous.

 

“Alright Ky.” That previous smoothness vanishes into the air. “I see weren't not getting anywhere with this.”

 

“Well of course not. All you're doing is insulting my men.” What he doesn't say is “and me”. He really should have.

 

“I was only trying to get you to loosen up. It's a shame seeing my Dreamer being so repressed.” The Satyr draws a small whiskey bottle ought from the side of his coat, sloushing the liquor within. “You aren't like this when you sleep you know. Not at all. You are so much kinder, so full of hope.”

 

Ky knits his brows in confusion, breaking the stoic appearance he was trying so hard to cultivate.

 

“I'm sorry, I don't understand what you mean.” Well, he does but he would much rather pretend that things are different and that's he's not only waking when he sleeps.

 

The Changeling shakes his head and uncaps the bottle, the alluring scent of whatever was actually in there wafting over towards him, tempting him into the throws of passion, of desire.

 

“You see, while I was born from the dreams of the Theocracy as a whole, I only have a few Dreamers who supply me with the amount of Glamour I need to keep this ship of mine functional. You're one of them. In fact, you're my Champion Dreamer, the one who has dreams most compatible with my existence. So like all of my kind, I visit your dreams periodically, about once every three months, to guild and cultivate your fantasies and to drink your whimsy right from the source. And let me tell you, you're much more personable when you're dreaming. I wonder why you push that side of your personality away and replace it with such a nasty one. I mean after all, anyone can see that a frown doesn't suit you Officer.” He remarks, oh so nonchalantly despite this being an earth shattering revelation to the other. “Would you like a drink?”

 

The boy stares down at the bottle of amber liquid, moving about as if it had a mind of it's own, with the consistency of honey. It was not the kind of liquor he was used to seeing and it was definitely not whiskey. Most likely some kind of Fair Food created to corrupt and poison the mind, to make it more susceptible to the mind effecting magics of the Fair Ones so they may drag him off to their Fair Courts and turn him into little more than some pretty slave. With understandable paranoia, he shakes his head, denying the Satyr the pleasure of taking him easily or even, the pleasure of watching him 'loosen up'. The bastard doesn't deserve it.

 

“No thank you. I've sworn against drinking.” Not exactly a lie. Good. He knows how much the Fair Ones abhor liars.

 

“Suit yourself.” The Changeling shrugs and takes a gulp of the whiskey, a droplet of gold dripping down his chin and onto his bare chest, landing right on his lower abs – which were strangely, perfectly defined in every way.

 

At the sight, the officer twitches and internally shrieks. He knows exactly what the Satyr is trying to do and is having none of it. This pointless game could not continue any longer.

 

“Is that all you have to tell me?” He hastily asks, showing desperation in his voice. Damn it, he'd have to see about fixing that when he returns home. Desperation is pathetic.

 

The goat cocks his head to the side, probably picking up on the emotion in his voice.

 

“Oh yes, about that Carnival. Alright well here's all that _I_ know. It's being headed by a Changing Breed into some extreme piercings, a Chinese vampire and what looks to me to be another Satyr though I wonder what's up with her get-up. She looks great, but she's dressing wrong for her species if you know what I mean. A cleanly shaven Satyr loses most of their... appeal.” The man shrugs, twisting the cap back onto the bottle and shoving it back into his jacket. He leans forwards, so close that his face is right in the officer's personal space and he can, presumably, see every movement the other man makes. “Now a piece of trivia for you. Do you know the origins of the word Carnival?”

 

Ky leans away from the beast, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the barnyard like scent. Fair One or not, the man still reeks of booze, sweat and goat shit. To think, this smell was considered 'attractive' in the Fair Lands (and in a fair deal of places on this one!).

 

“I can't say I do. I never had much of an interest in languages.” In truth, he actually failed his English class the first time he attempted it. He never felt that much shame before and made sure that he passed with flying colours afterwards. He could not bear the sight of disappointment on Sister Magnolia's face when her most dear student turned out to be as illiterate as the average street urchin. He hates how this Satyr is making him feel the same way. Inadequate.

 

The Satyr leans away again, perhaps sensing the overwhelming discomfort Ky was beginning to feel at his closeness.

 

“Caro/Carn meaning flesh. Levare meaning put away. So, that in theory, translates to put away flesh, yes?”

 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Was this just more nonsense? It seems it's impossible to get anywhere with this sort of person.

 

“Nothing really. I just thought that maybe this Brothel might be much more than just a group of information brokers that rent themselves out on the weekends. Maybe it's not just by chance that they only operate at night or that nobody I've spoken to knows what they look like or has actually had sex with them. Just food for your thoughts, or rather, your dreams.” The man smiles, showing just a single card from his hand.

 

With the newfound knowledge, Ky's face lights up.

 

“It seems that the drunkard does make wise remarks.” He mumbles, mulling over what he has learnt.

 

While it was just a hunch what the Changeling said, it gave him a valid reason to investigate and it gave him a bit of a hint at their true purpose. And on the other hand, it just proved to him that the beast was no where near as foolish as he had first thought.

 

“I'm glad you think so officer.” The man replies. “Oh and one or two more things. First, a pretty little Mage told me that you should be expecting a pair of Divine beings soon, so keep an eye out for them, okay? And second, my name is Johnny. You can use that instead of 'The Changeling'. I'm sure that would make your reports easier, after all.”

 

“My apologies.” His voice comes out sincerely but cold.

 

He surely appreciates the information but make no bones about it, he does not either trust nor like this 'Johnny' and refuses to comply to his wishes or whims. After dealing with this 'Carnival', he shall enact justice upon this Changeling and slay him along with his own impure dreams. Only through that can he gain anything in this purity based race. So gathering his mental reserves, he turns his back to the Changeling and makes his way off that ship, only to get stopped by a gloved hand gripping tightly onto his sleeve.

 

“Sorry, I won't let you go without telling you this. Your hope was not worthless.” Johnny remarks, his face deadly serious for the one time during this entire conversation. Frankly, it was intimidating.

 

But he has surrender fear along with his hope and his love and rips his sleeve free from the man, sneering.

 

“Don't touch me.” His voice crackles with the force of the storm behind him. “Don't ever touch me.”

 

And with that, he disappears into the night. And a little bit too late, his adventure tragically begins. With sword in hand and crosses dancing across his neck, he tries to wipe the memories of her hands against his back. Forget about that hope, forget about that love, forget about all of it. Those kinds of emotions are worthless, it's because of those emotions that he nearly lost them the crusade. So under Holy Orders, he erases everything he loves about himself with everything he hates and fights with his conviction and dedication towards his cause. All that holds him together is determination and this Satyr taking that in vain, trying to get him to forget all about that and lose himself in selfish desires, that is unforgivable.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set-up, foreshadowing, character introductions and so on. Hope you are not bored.


	9. Come On!

Come On!

 

_He was sixteen years old when his beloved Master first allowed him to sit beside him in the garden (of which hormones and strange thoughts bloomed as if they were brilliant roses and hopes withered with each passing mourn) In that radiant garden, the boy had tried to choke out his most sincere thoughts but his voice faltered before he could get the second syllable out._

 

_A feeling of shame had overtaken it and replaced what would surely have been an eloquent declaration of his true feelings turned into a bitter, soft whimpering, reminding him of his place. He was nothing more than Master's (favourite?) hunting dog. As it is wrong for a dog to love a human in this manner, he had no right to love Master. So he hid the unsightly emotions deep within and resigned himself to his place in the world. Second Best was the best he has ever been. Trying to change that was disrespectful and ungrateful and Master Zato deserves so much more than his broken, cold heart that does not even understand what it wants._

 

_He deserves so much more and yet... Venom was too reckless and too young and..._

 

_His hand gripped tightly onto Master's instinctively. His palm radiated with such warmth and the scars tracing along his fingers told stories of villainy and sin. How the boy longed to know each and every story intimately and be the reason why Master forgave himself for all that he had done. In short, he wanted Master to become happy not in spite of him but because of him. But in pursuing that desire, for the first time in six years, he faltered._

 

“ _Master Zato.” His voice was barely louder than a whisper and the softness behind it was unmistakably love. “Please tell me once again what a gift of flowering grasses means.”_

 

_His Master did not move and was perhaps, barely even moved._

 

“ _If received from a person of the same gender, it means homosexual love.” As usual, Master's voice was cold and informative, never once faltering. “Are you trying to tell me something Venom?”_

 

“ _No.” He spoke a little too sharply, a little too roughly, a little too obviously._

 

“ _Alright.” And he knew his Master knew, it is just that neither of them cared._

 

_He subconsciously tightened his grip on his Master's hand, enjoying the sensations regardless of his intent. He wondered if his Master's touched that woman with such tenderness. Well, he obviously must. This is a gesture of love after all. From him to Master and from Master to her, it was nothing more than love with just a few traces of irony. In shame of his folly and of her folly and of Master's, he gathered his mental reserves and drops his Zato's hand, relishing the last traces of bare fingertips brushing against his glove. He says not another word, lest he make a bigger fool out of himself, and disappeared inside the building, holding in everything he has ever longed for and endured._

 

_As his footsteps echoed across the dimly light hallways of the guild, he made a mental note to tell Zato that he was allergic to grass._

 

 

-*-

 

 

As luck and tragedy would have it, the party of three find themselves crossing through several blooming fields of grass on their way to that truck stop. The scent of flowers hangs ever so delicately in the air, the moon shines off the dew ever so brilliantly that Venom barely stops himself from vomiting. The pain of years filled with shame and solitude build up inside of him, thinning his saliva with it's bitter resenting acid, and beckon him to purge himself of those unsightly feelings that he clings onto so.

 

He knows that his shame, his sadness, his love, all of them are nothing more than signs of weakness but he can not muster the courage nor the mental strength to cut it away from himself. For that unsightly love of his is his only consideration. God, he just feels like laughing from the sheer irony of his situation. In pursuit of an obtainable love, he sacrificed everything. Now, all that remains are those feelings which he must bury in order to do the duty he swore he would do in the name of love. To remove those feelings, that would be removing a vital part of himself. The spark that animates him and presses him onwards. But if he doesn't remove them, then he can't continue. He's gotten himself into a psychological mess and there is no way out of it that he can see. There is no one that can help him either.

 

He glances at Baiken at his side. There was no way she would understand his view of the world. She was a woman born of vengeance and resolution, with neither time nor the inclination to pursue love and would not be as foolish as to pursue a tragic one. And the boy behind her, he would be even less help. While he does seem to understand love, he does not yet know what it is like to truly lose one. He still believes in whomever has stolen his heart and love for him has but not one trace of irony. Smiling sadly from beneath that white veil of hair, Venom silently wishes that he could feel that way about his Master again. The pure love he celebrated as a boy has vanished into the fields among the flowering grasses as he walks, powerless to abandon it.

 

Master should have called him Dedication (or Blind Obedience if he wanted to be painfully on the nose), he muses, boot (and whatever the other thing was) softly thudding against the wet grass. The air smells of gasoline and the ground, of oil, so they must be getting relatively close. It seems that the location is just over this large hill covered with a variety of wild flowers and grasses. It almost makes you forget all about the cigarette butts and empty soda cans littering it. Well, it almost makes him forget. The other two seem less thrilled about the sight. Perhaps they simply do not see beauty behind filth like he does. He's lived his life doing that.

 

“Goddamn litterers! What a fucking mess.” Baiken sneers, kicking a can out of her way.

 

Venom's lip slyly tinges into a smile at the sight. She has got quite the kick for a woman in sandals. The boy, Axl was it, on the other hand, does not. He attempts to do a similar thing, perhaps to try and court Baiken, but misses and slips on the can instead, falling right onto his arse. It is a good thing Venom favours professionalism or he would have burst out laughing by now at the pathetic sight. Instead, he offers his hand to the young man and helps him up.

 

“Thanks.” The kid grins, so happy over a simple gesture that Venom silently wonders how many times this child has been denied affection.

 

Then he wonders if this is how he himself behaves and if that was why Baiken took such pity on him.

 

“So anyway kid, how much farther?” She asks, dragging him out of his plaintive thoughts. “My feet are fucking killing me!”

 

For the best really. He has often been told he focuses too much on what was and what could have been and his thoughts reflect that. They are so self-pitying and so sombre that it is disgusting. He must really be quite a weak person.

 

He summons the pad and pencil combination to his hands. A 'cool trick' according to Baiken. In truth it was just a strange ability he developed to summon objects of a certain size out of a pocket dimension. It was an extremely limited technique and frankly, he could have better used his time learning to do something else with his Magics. The ability is only able to summon objects that he has already placed within the dimension and there seems to be a weight/size limit. He can not hide his pool cue in it but his balls are fair game. He has also on multiple occasions, used it to hide a change of clothes or something personal he wanted to keep out of the hands of others. However, it is decently useful for his pool style of combat as along with it, he learnt a limited amount of levitation. Unfortunately, it appears that it only works on the balls. And he isn't sure how Dimmu Borgir or Dark Angel even work. They just do and he is thankful for them.

 

He stops walking and flips open the sketchbook, staring for a few seconds too long at his love confession. He blinks away the forming tears and turns to the page where he wrote the original suggestion. Carefully taking the pencil in hand, he marrs the paper with his flowery writing.

 

“ _I believe we are almost there. Over this hill and across the road and we should be there, judging by the smells and the general area of which I recall this place being located.”_ He scratches down.

 

Baiken glances at the paper and sighs in relief.

 

“Thank the Gods. Then I can sit down. And I guess we could grab some food to eat too.” She sounds disproportionately pleased at the prospect of food. “Wait, does anyone have any money?”

 

He shakes his head. While he does have money, both World and Platinum Dollars and various other forms of more archaic currency such as the ever popular Euro, he doesn't have it _on_ him. He makes a mental note to borrow some from someone. He shall pay them back when he either A. gets his briefcase back, or B. this shenanigan is over and done with. Damn it! His briefcase! He had left it at Guild in his panic to get out of there. Ugh, he will have to pick another one up at the Paris branch. Which was barely a branch, by the way. It was a small building and had maybe one actual assassin in it. Which, on the plus side, meant that no one would be looking for him there and most likely, no one had notified them about Zato's current state. He thanks himself for his paranoia as he vanishes the book and turns to see where his companions have gone.

 

While he was absorbed in his thoughts, it appears that the other two have been pooling their cash as they are sitting down (squatting in Baiken's case) on the filthy ground and a pile of money is lying at their feet.

 

“I've got fifty dollars and a nickel.” Axl declares, bizarrely proud of his achievement in poverty.

 

“I ain't got much more kid. And most of this'll be gas money. Fuck it. Let's just rob one of those bastards along with their truck. It'll be way easier. We blow this shit on food and stuff and whatever else we get's going to the gas companies.” Baiken shrugs, thinking nothing of the crime they are planning.

 

And apparently, Axl doesn't either as all he does is nod enthusiastically.

 

“Alright Boss!” He salutes her and stands up, dusting the, whatever that was, off of his pants.

 

Baiken stands up too and thinks for a moment.

 

“We need to buy some tobacco too. I'm out. And booze. And fireworks.” She mutters, seemingly unaware of how dangerous and illegal that could potentially be. Especially considering they were in Italy, not in A-Country.

 

He wants to ask her what makes her think that a gas station in Italy would sell any of those things but he's taken a temporary vow of silence so all he can do is give her a disapproving glare through his curtain of hair.

 

She ignores him and ascends the hill, walking quite quickly in front of him.

 

“You were right!” She calls down from the top, blinding Venom with her neon hair. “I can see the station right in front of me!”

 

The assassin nods to himself and starts walking up, Axl mumbling to himself at his side.

 

“So loud but so hot...” The boy mutters, giggling.

 

Venom ignores the comment, focusing on making it over the hill. It doesn't take long and he is soon given a wondrous view of the the top most part. Paper plates and plastic bags adorn themselves beautifully in a mess of rotting food and ant hills. And some of that art finds itself tastefully adorning the heel of his boot. He sighs and hops over the metal bar separating the field from the road, adding a bit of a flounce in the move out of some petty sense of pride for his training. Axl follows suit but in a much less graceful way, falling flat on his face. What an embarrassment.

 

Venom sighs internally and lifts Axl up by the collar. The boy cowers at the sight of his awful gaze and whimpers, high pitched and loud. The assassin pays no mind and drags the boy down the dusty (otherwise relatively clean) road, Baiken's laughter echoing in the background.

 

“Hey, hey! Not so rough!” The boy whines, his face pulling back into a mixture of disgust, fear and... snot.

 

The only way he could define that emotion is snot. Not even sadness. Just... just snot. My God, this was worse than he thought. This boy needs an assassin's touch, asap.

 

“Yeah, careful with him. We need him intact.” Baiken mentions, trailing down the road after them with that 'Devil may care' attitude that annoys yet awes him so often.

 

Ah you see the issue with his companions is simple. One cares too much about too many, too small things and the other cares too little about too little, too big things. Unfortunately, he does not have the skills to perform a balancing act. He cares too much as well (although it is at least only regarding a few very personal issues and he has the good sense to not voice his insecurities.). Perhaps they need another member then. Someone with the right amount of concern at the right time about the right things. Someone with empathy that is not blinded by their feelings. But they have already stepped onto that station so it is probably far too late to bother with such things.

 

He releases Axl's collar from his death grip and picks up a napkin off the station. With a sigh, he wipes the sauce off his boots and flicks the trash into a nearby can, smiling just a little bit at his perfect aim. Baiken taps his shoulder.

 

“Go with the kid and grab us some food using the hundred we got, alright? I'll see what I can do to hook us up with a truck.” She says before disappearing into the poorly lit truck area.

 

Venom looks at Axl, asking him if he got that with his body language. Axl appears to get the message as he walks into the store part of the station, pointing towards Venom as if he ought to follow him. Being a relatively polite man, he complies, stepping into the station. Over the counter is a large sign reading

 

“ _Authetic A-Country Styled Gas Station!”_

 

He wonders if it sells drug paraphernalia and t-shirts with racist slogans like the real A ones do but before he can ask, Axl walks up the counter and starts asking for things.

 

“Do you have any Rice Wine?” He asks, his voice sounding so childish that there is no possible way that the cashier would actually sell it to him.

 

Then again, this cashier seemed rather young himself. His face was full of a lot of painful looking piercings and his feet were thrown up on the counter. He also seemed to be wearing some sort of school uniform? And he had an excellent tan. Maybe. Could be his natural skin colour. He wasn't really sure. The fellow was quite racially ambiguous.

 

“Yeah man.” The cashier says, flipping through what is obviously some sort of pornographic comic book. “It sure as fuck ain't mine but my brother's an asshole so I'll just like, fucking give it to you and pretend that you gave me a shitload of motherfucking cash for it. I'm skimming off the top anyway. What's a little bit more?”

 

Of course. Venom sighs. This was proving to be a nightmare. Perhaps he should have stayed in the dirt and waited for the Elder to come and finish him off or something.

 

He glances at the cashier. His teeth are overly sharp and his predatory yellow eyes lead him to believe that the man is a vampire. But the way he speaks indicates he was only recently turned and has not really gotten used to the lifestyle. Whatever. He can handle a lowly vampire. Especially one with enough humanity left in him to have a sex drive.

 

“Thanks man.” Axl grins, giving the cashier a thumbs up. “Oh hey, do you carry fireworks and loose tobacco too?”

 

“We ain't supposed to but I've got some. Take it. I don't give a fuck.”

 

“Kay thanks.”

 

Axl places a large amount of tobacco and a few fireworks onto the counter alongside the rice wine that was already there. He hops off along the store and starts looking around for food while the cashier idly flips through the book, paying no mind to anything that was going on. At least, that's what Venom thought before the man suddenly started staring at him, bright eyes burning into his.

 

“Hey look at that, you've got a weird ass eye too. Nice.” He remarks before turning back to his book.

 

What a Freak.

 

The boy returns with a few handfuls of canned and dried goods (and a few snacks.) and places them on the counter.

 

“Is this enough Venom?” He asks, turning towards the assassin.

 

Venom nods. Looks like it. And if not, they could always pick up more later.

 

“Alright!” The boy says, quite pleased with his little self. “Ring me up, please, Mr... uh...”

 

“Valentine.” The man mutters, focusing on a particular image.

 

“Oh, well, thanks for the stuff Mr. Valentine.”

 

“No thank you assholes for fucking my brother's crusty ass over for me.”

 

Well alright then.

 

“But you're gonna haft to ring yourselves up. I ran out of fucks to give.” Valentine remarks.

 

Axl nods and checks out, taking the bags full of food – and dangerous objects that should not be sold anywhere really – out. Venom takes one last look at the Freak of a cashier and shakes his head. If he never had to speak to anyone like that ever again, it would be too soon.

 

He steps out of the store, the door (which he only now notices is covered in some kind of red, sticky substance) slamming behind him. Baiken looks a bit scuffled but overall fine. A scruffy man with his hair in a top-knot and a long scarf (somehow still billowing behind him) is lying at her feet, groaning.

 

“Got a truck.” She mentions.

 

“And we got your booze.” Axl says with a wink.

 

Venom walks past them both to where the truck is and places his hands against it. It's a solid eighteen wheeler that appears to have been re-purposed by someone as it has more than the usual amount of seats and there's even a couple of beds nailed down in the back, a small bathroom and holy symbols carved onto the interior walls. It also appears that the logo was scratched off by someone earlier. In short, it is perfect for their current operation. Sighing in relief that this plan worked, Venom crawls in through the back and sits down on the seat lodged behind the bed. His feet practically moan out in joy as they finally get their long awaited rest. Baiken follows suit, climbing into the driver's seat.

 

“Comfortable.” She grins, starting it up with the keys she pinched. “Axl, come on! We've got somewhere to be!”

 

Axl lets out a scream from the side of the truck. Baiken stops it and climbs out, Venom following behind her. The two of them reach him only to see his face being lovingly licked by a large, white dog.

 

“The fuck?” Baiken asks for the sake of us all.

 

Axl giggles and strokes the massive beast lovingly.

 

“Let's keep him!” The boy exclaims, ignoring the fact that the dog obviously just jumped on him.

 

Baiken frowns.

 

“You're gonna have a bitch fit if I don't let you, ain't you?” She asks, sighing in resignation.

 

“Yes.” The boy confirms with the appropriate pouty face on.

 

“Fine whatever. If it shits, you're cleaning it up though.”

 

The boy grins, giggles and skips off into the car, sitting down next to Baiken. Thank God, Venom really did not want to have to. That's not to say he doesn't like Baiken, he is fairly fond of her (for a woman he just met) but he would rather not have her take her rage out on him when he's trying to think or draw.

 

Venom cricks his neck, what a relief, and sits in the back, putting on the seatbelt that was set up a tad too high but it would do he figures. The truck was pretty much invisible regardless. He allows himself to relax in the back of the seat and close his eyes. In fact, he's so relaxed that he doesn't even care when a large, furry object crawls onto his much too small lap and begins to drool on him. He is, however, bothered when the object suddenly shifts in weight. His face distorts into a look of annoyed confusion as he starts to open his eye. Unfortunately, the dog is quicker.

 

“Yo.” It says.

 

And not a single one of them could stop themselves from screaming.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder if all writers feel this way about their work? I read back on chapters and think they are nice but when it comes to post them, every flaw becomes immediately obvious.


	10. Noontide

Noontide

 

_A series of firsts has coloured his and her life thus and yet, they were forgotten so easily._

 

_The first time they met set the tone of the rest of their lives. The colour of the sky was a mixture of red and pink fading out to a brilliant blue and the roses that clung to their boots grew in a similar pattern, the pink roses gradually turning to red, seemingly without any outside influence. The ground they walked upon was a barren wasteland, filled with nothing more than the few plants gripping onto them and an array of tents housing soldiers whom had little more than their lives to hold on to. But the look in that woman's eyes, the smile that was held beneath so many years of pain was something that he could not help but respect. She was an enemy, a rival, he knew this the moment she spoke but still, he would not hate her for it. Those kinds of eyes told nothing but the utmost truth and deliver nothing but a restless, righteous golden flame that could never be extinguished. Ah, it was no wonder he grew to endlessly love her._

 

_Her tone of voice was so harsh and demanding that he immediately left a slight hostility towards her, but he could not hate her for that either. She was just a lowly soldier without family nor friends and no one knew where she came from or where she intended on going after the noon had passed. But during the dull summer of a particularly lazy noontide, they smiled at one another as though they were close friends rather than destined opponents; as chosen by the Theocracy and the Gods._

 

“ _Captain.” She had said, her voice filled with a passion of which he was sure he would never recreate even if given a million years._

 

“ _Officer.” He replied, the harshness of his tone mixing with that woman's passion until the original shape was unfamiliar to him._

 

_And they'd stared into one another's eyes as the golden noon and the bright blue sky that disappeared into the midsummer breeze. The evening's scent was quite similar to the scent of the cologne she wore. He could never forget that scent. It had been buried too deep within that good memory of his._

 

_Nor could he ever lose sight of the colour her eyes. They were as though sun shone off of them, just like that midday sunset. Ah, he could have sworn that those brown eyes of hers were actually-_

 

-*-

 

Sol's eyes snap open. It is the same dream, night after night. It's always the same. That woman and that kid and a sunset at noon. He isn't sure what it means exactly but it never fails to give him some strange feelings. This time he feels a weird mix of nostalgia and sadness. He sighs. He forgets the life he lived before this one, perhaps in his previous life, he was in love with this woman. After all, he can still remember her face; just, unfortunately, not her name. Every emotion and word she spoke has been completely burnt into that amazing memory of his. The colour of her lips and the scent of her cologne; he reluctantly remembers those as well. He feels like he'll _have_ to find out about her once he isn't as busy. After he takes the soldier boy into custody, he'll go out in search of her memory. It won't be hard to find her, he's sure, as there is no way he could forget the fire in her eyes.

 

He glances back, trying to take a look at Testament. While he's (just a little bit) happy that the boy has kept his mouth shut for the duration of the trip (ignoring the occasional murmuring), he can not help but feel a bit worried. It has been a day since they left and he hasn't heard a peep. And sure, the kid hasn't been talkative since The Crusades, he's never been _this_ silent either. He almost always had some kind of bitchy comment directed at something or some other, whether it be one word or a million. But here he is silent as the dead without anyone even having to ask. He didn't even make a quip when Sol accidentally threw his wallet into the toll booth. Usually the brat would have jumped on the chance to insult him, but these days, it was different. In all these centuries they've spent together, everything's stayed the same.

 

“You alright?” He asks, his voice gruff and unrelentingly aggressive as per usual but there was a softness behind it that he tries to make more audible.

 

Thankfully, no one but the crow seems to notice.

 

She makes her way towards his broad shoulders, cawing in what might be smugness; he can't detect. She plops down on top of him, cooing ever so slightly with feet sharper than a raven's feather. He can feel them prick through his shirt... probably intentionally.

 

“What?” He sneers down at the bird, trying to chase her away so he can continue his high and mighty 'I don't give a damn' attitude that has become his trademark.

 

But she knows him too well to fear such a bravado and coos lightly and pleasantly, as if he was stroking her. He retaliates by rolling his eyes and letting out an overdramatic sigh, cutting his losses and deciding to pleasantly engage her. She _is_ Testament's bird after all, she preferred lukewarm friendliness and good manners to rough attitudes and go-getter personalities.

 

“What's up with the kid?” He asks, wishing that he could have a smoke right now, though smoking in front of a doctor was probably sanest idea.

 

The bird blinks her solid black eyes -of which she tries her hardest to hide whilst human- and Sol can tell she has no intentions on returning to her true form in front of strangers. Sol groans and sets her down on the dashboard so he can see her responses better.

 

“Fine. Something wrong with the kid?” He questions, lip curling in a mix of anger and amusement.

 

Naaham shakes her little bird head side to side. A no, then.

 

“Is he sleeping?”

 

She nods.

 

“That's it?”

 

Another nod.

 

So he was worried about nothing and made a fool out of himself. He mentally kicks himself, the embarrassment that humans felt so often creeping into this body and tainting his own soul. At least Naaham isn't going to go run her mouth off to the punk about this but on the other hand, she would most likely lord it over him and try to use it as leverage against him like she was some kind of Dominatrix.

 

Actually, she is. One of the last of her kind. The bird get-up was just some silly disguise that Testament had her put on so she wouldn't scare the animals away. Not only did the animals not give a fuck one way or another but she preferred this form and now she makes herself a nuisance with it. That's Testament for you. Ruining everything for everyone else.

 

However, before Sol can continue that thought any further, the ambulance stops abruptly, knocking him so far, his seat belt has to yank him back and causing Naaham to flutter about in confusion. Succubi Dominatrix or not, she was still as dumb as a bird.

 

“Ow, my head!” A light voice (crossed over with about a woman's voice and a baritone man's in some kind of demonic, vocal threesome) cries out.

 

Sol swears under his breath in their Celestial language. He's gonna have to see if he can stop Testament from doing shit like that. It was seriously becoming an issue. He did it front of a nun once and the next thing anyone knew, the kid was covered in holy water, blood and gunpowder and Naaham had a finger shot off. Apparently, samurai nuns and gunslinging priests are an issue in the Vatican. The three of them were lucky they escaped the church alive. Well, Testament was lucky. Sol has never had an issue fighting against humans. No matter how 'holy' they may be, they are still only humans and their bones still break like a human's.

 

“Stop whining.” Sol grumbles, hiding his thankfulness that he wouldn't have to wake the kid up himself behind more gruff.

 

“I was sleeping!” The kid exclaims, making a hell of a noise for someone that's usually so softspoken.

 

Ha, he's always so loud when he bitches. It's sort of funny, in a sad way.

 

“So what? You slept all goddamn day.” The older man scoffs, blowing Testament off always got the kid so pissed off, it was funny.

 

“But I was tired!”

 

“Yeah well, we're here now so you'll just have to suck it up kid.” Sol shrugs.

 

He makes a motion to open the door only to feel the chilling gaze of the doctor on his back. With a shudder that he can't stop, he turns back to the doctor, grimacing on both the inside and the out.

 

“Be safe. There are a number of sad and lonely souls within that building and they are not in their right minds and I do not doubt that if any of them figure out what you two are, they will strike at you with all their might.” A surprising idealistic, hopeful ramble that means absolutely nothing to anyone with two brain cells to rub together.

 

But he can't be bothered with dealing with this kind of thing so he nods his head and leaves out the door, slamming it behind him to show his anger towards that kind of thinking. Doesn't seem like the man gets it because he doesn't move at all, he just stares from behind that paper bag, freak.

 

Sol sneers again and runs back to let Testament out. The heavy door opens with a bang and a crash, alerting any guards that might be on watch. They were definitely going to have to do this clean. Great. Exactly what he wanted.

 

“Come on.” He growls, pointing behind him.

 

With a moan, the kid climbs out of the back, Naaham flitting about behind him. Testament pouts at the sight of Sol's lack of concern and grabs at his face, dripping with drama.

 

“You are a barbarian!” His voice is supposed to sound upset but all it sounds like is some melodramatic actress is trying to nail this romance scene right but he'll humour the kid as much as he can and not bring it up.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Heard it all before.”

 

He snickers and cracks his knuckles. Then the building catches his eye and he loses track of what he was going to do next. It's beautiful but so ugly inside. The kids holed up in there must have so much more money then they need. Most likely because the place is both a church and a military centre so they don't have to pay taxes, they get tithe from the people and the majority of France's military budget. And the marble and gold statues were probably donated from one of the other sectors. There was this one up in Russia that had an abundance of stuff. Sol can remember the décor but not the name or the exact location. The kids there were such pricks anyways. One of the punks kept spamming this projectile over and over again. If he had guts, he wouldn't have been such a scrub and attacked like a real man, with everything he had. And that little brat had much nicer things that the boys down here (housing a veteran and the legacy of two war heroes).

 

He shakes his head free of the thoughts, turning towards the ambulance. The driver appears to be in a hurry and because he had the kindness to drive the two of them up here for nothing in return, Sol demonstrates some of that elusive humanity of his and gives a thumbs up to the man as he drives away. A part of him somewhere feels like they'll meet again and it's best to have good will with one's allies, especially if they're the selfless kind like this guy.

 

Pleased with his good deed for the day, the demon walks up to the golden gates, peering in through the luxury gates to see exactly what the place looked like – and to examine possible escape routes should a problem arise. From this point of view, the damn thing looks even more expensive (a pair of huge marble statues, one of a muscular figure with the eyes coloured in gold and the other of the old man, are up front and the building itself looks like it's made of either marble or carved from stone.)! Nice to see this is where the peoples' money and children were going to. Their parents send them off to help the world, have a better life and all that they end up doing is sit around, praying to that woman in what was effectively a gilded cage. He has an urge to destroy the place, just to show them what a waste it was and how their lives could be spent better but kills it where it stands. He's given up that kind of altruism a long time ago.

 

So gathering his mental reserves, he bangs loudly on those gates, commanding attention. A boy screams out in French to his fellows and opens the gates hastily. Before anyone can say a thing, he drops down on his knees in some kind of bow and starts rambling in Latin. Too bad Sol has neither the time nor the inclination to bother translating the brown-noser's pleas (or prayers?).

 

“Fuck off punk.” Sol snarls, kicking his foot at the boy just to make sure he gets out of the way.

 

The boy frantically runs off, vanishing into the distance with a couple seconds.

 

The demon shrugs – whatever is wrong with this kid, it isn't his problem – and continues marching towards the building. As he grows closer, he can't help but he notice the materials used to build it. He's sure it's made of marble now (or at least, the exterior is) and the door is a finely polished maple wood that these boys must spend hours getting to shine like that. What a senseless waste of time and efforts.

 

The lawn's pretty sweet though. Yeah, he's okay with that. Perfectly green grass and bricks arranged to make small little gardens growing some flowers. He digs through the memories he's collected over his years to figure out the type. The florist inside of him takes a few guesses (she must be rusty as hell). Dahlias, Daisies, Dogwood and... Hawthorn? That doesn't really coincide with his ideas regarding them but he figures it might just be to chase away demons. Ha, it won't do shit but he'll let them be content in their stupidity. Their faith in it'll at least stop the blood whores from getting in.

 

Testament coughs loudly and reaches up to knock on the door. He's frowning more than usual so Sol briefly entertains the notion that the kid knows something he doesn't. With a grin, the demon disregards it. There's no way Testament knew more than him. Not to say the kid is stupid, he just doesn't have enough memories to call on. Then again, neither does Sol. He only remembers possessing three people this century and that is only because he had many important things to do in the human world. If it wasn't for that woman, he would never of come back to this god forsaken, beautiful world of theirs.

 

The door opens with a loud creaking, yanking him out of his thoughts about the world. A small, blonde woman with bags under her eyes and scars covering her face ushers them in, mumbling in some kind of French dialect. This brain doesn't know any French and he hates the language so he just rejects everything she's saying. Testament doesn't seem to get much more and appears to be just nodding in time to her garbage.

 

“Where's the Major?” He asks, deciding to cut this short before he forgets what he's doing and stares off into the distance like a freak again and/or she starts going into some kind of spiel.

 

Although, it looks like he's said something offensive because her eyes go wide and she begins to shake; whether in fear or in awe, he can't tell.

 

“The Major?” She repeats back in a thick accent which doesn't seem to be French after all. “The Major is... the Major... The Major is down the hall.”

 

With a doe-eyed look of rapture, she stumbles off, trying to lead them. Testament trails behind her, Naaham giggling on his shoulder, probably excited to be surrounded by so many impressionable humans in one area. Sol takes a few steps towards them but the sound of screaming somewhere far off deters him. He glances around, checking to see if there was some sort of trap or something but nothing makes itself known. With a shake of the head, he clicks after them, his hall resounding against the hardwood (the maple has a reddish tint and what looks like roses engraved lovingly into it) floors up until he reaches the hallway itself, which is covered in carpeting.

 

He grins. His feet don't even thump against it, the sound is so muffled. And the colour scheme reminds him of something he's seen before. The pink tinted walls and the stained glass windows covered in dark red fabrics and the golden trim remind him of a sunset almost. The blue both adds and detracts from the appearance and the splotches of cream (so like clouds) set the mood. And the scent of flowers adorning the place gives off such a nostalgia that despite the fear and the hatred coming from this place, Sol almost found it beautiful. Almost.

 

Even though he walked slowly as to admire the decorations and reminisce on experiences he missed, the door still hasn't been opened by the time Sol gets there and voices screaming in French are heard throughout. The smell of flowers only grows stronger and the roses creeping along the bricks of the wall (real roses and brick, who would have though) give the whole area a flower motif. It offsets the dried blooding clinging onto the door handle and the overpowering aura of reverence and dread mingles with the pleasant smells, confusing and victimizing his poor nose.

 

Sol swears under his breath, figuring that they wouldn't shut up any time soon, and kicks down the door, sending it flying across the room. Three pairs of bright blue eyes (and one on a TV screen) stare out at him, their innocence catching him off guard just long enough for the kid (the Major, he thinks) to turn to the screen.  
  


“I'm sorry Major. We'll have to talk another time.” The boy says, slamming down on the button next to him.

 

The kid looks so frazzled, his eyes are drooping and his hair is all over the place. But the sunlight hitting just so on his eyes and his crosses make him look much older and much more calm than he really was. He smiles softly, face already aged with stress and pain. But the sword clutched tightly in his hand still unnerves Sol. He grabs onto the Fireseal in turn and snarls at the boy, readying himself for an attack.

 

The Major sighs and drops down on one knee, planting the sword into the hardwood without a care for the obvious expense of it. The demon barely contains the rage inside of him, stopping the blade with his bare hand as he stares down at the sight. The boy looks up with him with such... strange eyes and begins to speak.

 

“Servants of God, I, Major Ky Kiske of the Sacred Order of Holy Knights, have come here to greet you personally. Please, forgive me for the mess and for the delay, I did not know you would be coming so soon. But please, allow me to make this a home for the both of you Divine Beings.” The boy says, refusing to break from his bow even though he was obviously being threatened.

 

Testament takes a few steps towards the boy and critically, turns his head in the manner that a bird would. He asks the question that they all would (including the Officer's own men, judging by the looks on their faces) in this case.

 

“What on Earth are you doing, little boy?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you all guess who that mystery woman is? I've got to say, they're my OTP, LOL.


	11. Child of the Wild

Child of the Wild

 

_His soul, his body, his mind, all of them kept changing, day by day, hour by hour. The mixing, intoxicating, deconstructing taste of the white powder remains in his mouth, the smell of it lingers in his nostrils; dancing a waltz of anomalies with the taste of his own lukewarm blood. He drinks it in, the red liquid with the viscosity of mucus, and sings to himself. The words flowing off his tongue in a slurred rondo of ecstasy._

 

“ _So yes, today, we build more bridges to the underworld!” He cries out, his voice growing numb from repeated uses but in his pleasure, he no longer cares._

 

_He had hoped this hit would be the one to take him out but no such luck. He'll enjoy the sensations, anyway._

 

“ _So hard emotion!”_

 

_He stumbled off the sidewalk into the road, head slamming against the hard, cracked asphalt as what was left of his rational brain cried out in relief. Maybe today was the day he'd die, he wondered out of the corner of his mind. The sound of rushing cars and the feelings of rain against his head only heightened the feeling. The distant footsteps took it away, replacing it with an overwhelming feeling of dread that persisted into that pleasurable feeling of intoxication and loss of rational thinking. But he keeps singing anyway. He doesn't care enough to do anything else._

 

“ _Can't you see he's in...”_

 

_His voice hitched and stopped, replaced by sobs he could not control or stop as he saw those all too familiar boots. A hand lifted him up by the collar, effectively staring at him._

 

“ _Danger.” The junkie hiccuped, tears streaming down his pale face and dripping off onto the pavement._

 

“ _Zanuff.” The voice said, so cold and so hateful that he wanted to die right there and then._

 

“ _Whadda want bitch? I gave you yer drugs.” He slurred, powerless to stop the aggression from leaking out but the tears must have tempered it a bit._

 

_However, they did not soften the blow of the slap._

 

“ _Worthless.” The man spat, dropping him onto the hard ground. “I'll let the petty human gangs have you instead. You've served your purpose.”_

 

_The boy lay down on the dirt and hiccuped again, the blood and dirt masking his sweat and snot._

 

“ _Danger?” The boy mumbled out to no one in particular as he curled up on that road, begging for the release of death._

 

_It did not come. Instead, came a messenger of it, extending an old and wrinkled hand towards the boy._

 

-*-

 

 

“You asshole! You fucking asshole!” The pink haired woman shrieks, swerving out of the parking lot and onto the road with no concern for anyone that may be on it. “You fucking said you couldn't talk!”

 

“My apologies.” The hot man (at least, Chipp thought he was hot. That's why he chose his lap over any other lap.) says, choking out his words in a hushed voice.

 

“My apologies my fucking ass! You better explain yourself right now or it'll be your blood staining this truck!” The woman's scream bounces off the walls, hurting Chipp's sensitive ears.

 

He whimpers quietly. Upset by the pain but thankful that she hasn't turned her anger on h--

 

“And you fucking dog! Explain _yourself!_ What the fuck is up with you?!” The snarling tone of her voice causes him to involuntarily lay his head down, a sign of submission.

 

This wolf blood of his was shaping up to be a real problem. And sure, it helped him kick the Vitae addiction (up until The End of The Crusades where his immunity was most delightfully stripped from him for like, no reason) it's constantly affecting his behaviour, infecting it with the spirit of the Wyld. He was probably only on this kid's lap because his horny inner dog wanted to get laid. Not that he minds too much but still, now is not the time.

 

“I'm running from someone and I needed a ride.” He says, figuring that a bit of vague honesty'll get him farther with a woman like her. Sides, the other two guys probably gave her more info so there's no reason for him to do so too, get it?

 

“What?” That other kid, the blonde one, asks, weirdly shocked by that.

  
What did he just think some homeless junkie on the street didn't owe some people a lot of money? Well actually, he doesn't owe anyone anything but after that er, situation, back in A-Country, the Sabbat still wanted him dead. And so do the Guild, actually.

 

“It ain't too bad.” Chipp mutters, trying to reassure him. “Just some blood whores. Don't worry about it.”

 

The hot kid with the washboard abs starts to shake in either anger or fear, his entire body rocking violently.

 

“Blood Whores? What is that supposed to mean?” His face doesn't move, and if did it isn't like Chipp can see it all too well with that hair in his face, but his voice betrays all the emotion needed to see the guy was taking this as a personal attack.

 

“What? You one of their Vitae bitches or somethin'? They paying you in it?” The werewolf grins, figuring he can goad the guy into telling him something important. Though, he does feel kind of bad for the guy. Vitae was the worst, especially if you got so much that it brainwashed you like this. The poor kid probably doesn't even know what's wrong with him. He seems somewhat young.

 

“How dare you refer to my servitude in such a manner!” And bingo, there it goes. He's already revealed his relationship to vampires with that one sentence.

 

The woman shrieks out, her voice straining her throat as it rips through them both, causing the hot kid to recoil and Chipp to grab tightly onto his ears, groaning in pain.

 

She turns towards them and spits, “Shut the fuck up!”, her voice already hoarse from her previous scream but it gets the message across.

The two of them have stopped dead in their tracks, staring at each other blankly.

 

Baiken lets out a quick sigh to calm herself down and adjusts the mirror so she can see them.

 

“Venom, are you a Ghoul? Like, I really don't care if you are at this point so long as you aren't gonna try and fucking kill me.” She breathes out.

 

“No. I have a phobia of blood so I could not stand Master's Vitae. My body rejected it immediately.” Venom, what a shitty name, explains.

 

Chipp assumes that's codeword for “I puked all over the floor like some asshole three year old.” or something rather similar.

 

“Alright, then why'd you get pissy over the Blood Whore thing?” The woman is surprisingly calm for the situation. So calm that Chipp almost wonders if she's watched a young adult before.

 

No way, she was definitely not the mothering sort. She would probably have just given the kid up for adoption, if she had one. She doesn't seem like the type to have sex.

 

“I do not wish to speak about it.” Venom explains, looking down at the ground in what Chipp was almost certain was shame.

 

“Well you better or I'll have Axl kill you to prove his worth!” She screams, losing her cool again.

 

“What?!” The blonde, losing whatever shits he had left.

 

Venom frowns and looks away, directing his gaze to the wall with all those weird carvings on it.

 

“I have a... friend... who is a vampire. And, as I owe my life to him, I have been working as his servant for over a decade now.” The kid's voice is wistful and tender, light as the laziest of summer breezes and as smooth as the golden sun of noon. It makes Chipp doubt that they were just friends.

 

“And... you're still a Hunter?” The woman asks, just as confused as Chipp himself by the tone of her voice.

 

“Hunter? I am sorry but you are gravely mistaken. I do not Hunt the evils of this world. At least, not intentionally. I hunt the people whom my Master tells me to. If they are good or evil, that is irrelevant. I merely pride myself on doing a good job.” Venom replies.

 

“Not a Hunter? Heh, I don't believe it. You've got the aura of one, a strong one too. So maybe you may not think you're one, but you are. There's no way you're just some Kindred's watchdog.” She shakes her head before quickly directing her eyes back towards the road.

 

“Watchdog? No, I am a Hunting Dog. I Hunted down those that opposed him and removed them from this world. I suppose you are correct in that regard. I am a Hunter, just, not the one you expected. First and foremost, I am his servant.” The kid explains.

 

“Stop beating around the bush, bastard, and tell me why exactly you're out here with us? You reporting back to him or something?” Chipp can see her sneering into the truck's mirror.

 

“No... I... Well, my Master has developed a sickness of the mind.” He continues on, making things interesting at last.

 

The other kid sits up and turns around in his seat, his head poking out from above the chair.

 

“Derangement? Fishmalk style, yeah?” The other kid remarks, smarter than he looks.

 

“No. This is much different; the only similarity being Master's lack of control over the actions of his body. Do you know about the Lasombra?” Venom asks.

 

And this is the part where Chipp shudders and grabs tightly onto his arm. He knows all about the goddamn Lasombra. He knows all about their eyes and about their shadows and about their godforsaken smiles. Manipulative little B-listers, the fucking lot of them. But he ain't just gonna outright say it. He doesn't want to give away his phobia of them.

 

“No, of course I fucking don't! We don't have this Bloodline bullshit back in Japan! Just Gaki! All vampires are Gaki! I we want to separate the ones that can eat food from the ones that can't, we call them Shirogaki and Kurogaki! None of this “different powers depending on who bit you” bullshit!” Baiken rants, giving more information than anyone really cared about.

 

“There are Indian, Thai, Laotian, Cambodian, Filipino, Malay, Indonesian, Korean, Western Russian, Mongolian, Burmese, Vietnamese, Nepali, Bhutan, Bangladeshi, Singaporean, Japanese and Chinese vampires. If we factor in each countries various religions and how the Kindred have crossbred, evolved and mixed with the various types of vampires in each of these countries, there must be just dozens of these 'Kindred of the East' with no set patterns or abilities.” The hot kid counters; he seems to like lecturing.

 

Chipp had no idea that most of those countries existed or that they even had their own vampires. He thought that the Asian countries only had the Kuei-Jin from The Middle Kingdom. That's what he read in that book but he isn't sure how recently it was written. But Shirogaki... that's interesting. He vaguely recalls someone calling themselves Shirogaki once but that was back before he was clean. And he recalls his Sensei saying something about Gaki. He said they were physically similar to the Korean vampires (or was it Singaporean? He can't remember.) and that Westerners frequently mistook them for one another. But because Chipp has Japanese blood just running through his veins, obviously he could tell.

 

“Now regarding the Kindred; almost all of Europe, Oceania, North America, Latin America, The Middle East, Morocco, Egypt, Libya and Algeria have roughly the same 'species' of vampire and we make distinctions based on not country or religion but on the individual's Discipline and who sired them. Unlike the Asian, majority of African and a few Eastern European ones, who have different species depending on the country, the religion of the person affected and whether or not they actually came from a person and are not some other form of supernatural being operating on the term 'Kindred'. So actually, the West have less species of vampire than the East, especially if we are considering Eastern Europe to be in the East. Although, there may be more in Africa but I don't know because nobody has even gone there to check.” Venom waffles on, forgetting his original point.

 

“Ugh you asshole! How do you know so much about that shit?!” She sneers. “And hey, you're changing the fucking subject! About your 'Master'! What's wrong with him?”

 

“My apologies, I forgot...” The kid looks away, obviously ashamed at how he forgot all about his Master in favour of discussing the politics of the Kindred. Hah, the kid would actually be a pretty good vampire himself. The Ventrue would love him, all pure bred and broody and thinking. Plus the guy's got a real distinctive appearance, must be some kind of Ventrue's specific food source.“Well, as most of you seem unfamiliar with the Lasombra, I will give you the footnotes.”

 

Axl opens his mouth to speak but closes it. Smart kid. He'd probably get yelled at for interrupting.

 

“The Lasombra are a Bloodline of vampires specializing the rare Discipline known as Obtenebration, which is currently known as the ability to animate and control one's shadow; as well as some limited shapeshifting on the higher levels of the skill. Master was one of the last ones alive after The Crusades, surviving only because the Guild protected him.” The kid infodrops on, not seeming to notice that both Chipp and Baiken have lost interest.

 

“Get to the fucking point! God, I liked you better when you didn't talk!” The woman hisses, running a red light in her anger.

 

“Watch it!” Axl exclaims, cringing. “We don't want to die in a bloody car accident!”

 

“Right, right. Well, there is an old saying among the Ventrue regarding this situation that I feel is the most adequate summary. “The Lasombra have strings vanishing off into the darkness, moving as if they were attached to puppets. But no one is sure who is puppeting whom.”. Master was under the impression that he was in total control of his shadow, that he may do what he pleases with it and that it would never betray or use him. He was wrong. The shadow has taken to using Master's body as a vessel unto it's own ends and has been slowly gaining a personality and motives all of it's own, seemingly separate from both Master's and from the Lasombra's patron. In fact, I am beginning to believe it has started developing feelings for Master and for... myself.” Venom explains, ringing his hands in distress. “Also... It claims to be a man-made parasite and I am not sure why.”

 

Axl purses his lips.

 

“Maybe it is? I mean, why would it lie about something like that?” He shrugs.

 

“Cause it's a Lasombra too.” Chipp retorts, pleased that there's finally room for him to talk again.

 

The woman snarls and whips the truck around again, knocking Chipp off of Venom's lap. Which really, was for the best because Venom was too polite to say “Get off.” and Chipp was too dumb to know he ought to.

 

“Right, dealt with him, now we deal with you, asshole!” She screams, taking bends like a Nascar driver.

 

“Alright, alright!” Chipp cries, rubbing his head where he hit it against the bed frame behind him.

 

“Okay. Who the fuck are you running from and what did you do to get them pissed off at you?” She asks, finally cooling off again.

 

“I'm runnin' from the Sabbat and the Guild cause I indirectly got one of their dudes killed. You know that whole Erica Bartholomew thing? Yeah that was me.” A smile graces his lips, he's quite pleased with his various achievements but the expression of horror from the blonde kid is a little weird.

 

“Oh. You're Chipp Zanuff then.” The Hunting Dog mutters, his voice suddenly deep and flat.

 

“Damn right I'm Chipp Zanuff!” He continues to grin.

 

“You're the reason I killed Volf. He was Sabbat? Colour me surprised. He was always a worthless Ghoul. I had wondered why Master considered him to be so skilled. Now I see why, the Sabbat take care of their own.”

 

“You're Guild then?” Baiken asks, twitching ever so slightly.

 

“You said he wasn't!” Axl exclaims, panicking again.

 

“I didn't know!” The woman snaps back, swerving out of the way of a car barreling towards them the other way. “How did you expect me to know?! It wasn't like he was fucking talking!”

 

The road really was crazy today, huh.

 

“And who the fuck is Erica Bartholomew?!” Baiken seems just about ready to kill them all.

 

“That's irrelevant. A bigger issue is at hand here. Mainly, the fact that the Sabbat are obviously trailing us.” Venom explains, awfully calm for what was going on and for what he just said.

 

“Well shit. Oops. Didn't think they knew I knew how to shift. That ain't good.” Chipp shrugs, turning back into a wolf/shaggy dog (it's impossible to tell which) as a sort of panic reflex.

 

Baiken mutters something in Japanese under her breath (Chipp notes that she ought to teach him Japanese sometime) and slams down on the pedal. For such a tiny woman, she must way a lot 'cause her foot's made of lead or something by the way she takes this turns.

 

On the other side of the truck, the blonde kid sounds like he's hyperventilating. He probably didn't sign up for this shit. Then again, none of them had. But they'll just have to deal with their issues together as a team.

 

“What do you mean by trailing?” The Japanese woman asks, her voice heaving but she isn't raging anymore at least.

 

“I mean, they have a tail on us. Not a very good one. In fact, I think even in this truck we could lose them in Paris. The Theocracy are something of a big deal there and the Sabbat will have to lay low to avoid them. If they lay low then they won't be able to find us so easily, especially considering that most of their Ghouls are little more than street junkies. Even better, if they try to take on the Theocracy then both sides will be distracted, allowing us to slip into Barcelona relatively unhindered. And as Barcelona is a 'Haven' for the more criminal sorts in the country, if they try to start anything with us, they'll probably be culled by the Prince of the City.” Even if the kid is rather wordy (when he talks that is. When he doesn't, you'd have no idea he's there. You know, the kid probably just likes to explain shit. Maybe it makes him feel smart) he makes a good plan.

 

Chipp shifts back, having calmed down, but his ears and tail remain, wagging happily at the sight of Venom's abs.

 

“And what about the dog?” Baiken asks.

 

“Well that depends on you two. We'll take a vote. All in favour of keeping the child of the wild?” Venom asks.

 

“I want to help him.” Axl says for unknown reasons, but the dog is rather grateful for his kindness.

 

“Tch, fine. He can stay. As long as he doesn't shit on anything.” The woman snaps.

 

Seems like the Japanese woman has a soft spot for younger men. Maybe she's a Cougar?

 

“Well that settles it then. Welcome to the 'team' Mr. Zanuff.” The assassin states, smiling ever so slightly, Chipp thinks.

 

“You can call me Chipp. Calling me Mister makes me feel old.” The dog grins, finally turning off the street-talk that he tended to get into whenever he was panicked.

 

“Hey Chipp~!” The blonde kid says, obviously younger than the other two and more idealistic for it.  
  


Hah, he's sure he'll get along great with these freaks. Some Guild's bitch, a little kid, an old Japanese Cougar and a junkie dog. Perfect. Although, he does wonder when he should tell them about the Homunculus he ran into on the way here. Eh, they probably already know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exposition, exposition everywhere. Trust me, I would not include it if I did not find it relevant. Even that paragraph regarding Asian vampires is relevant.


	12. God Bites Own Lip in Chagrin

God Bites Own Lip in Chagrin

 

God bites down upon her own lip in Chagrin. That future she sought (so beautiful and yet, so maddening) has violently begun to shake and tremble; threatening to be knocked over by even a dull summer's lazy breeze. What is she to do about it? What can there be done? She has lost touch of her children and of her servants, she has lost touch of her soul and her own future. Her memories, mortality, ethics, shake along in time to the doomed future and the past which she foolishly deconstructed with her own hands. Without the use of those three things, no action can be taken. She may only give orders and advice to the willing and curse out those that deny her further.

 

Blood drips down for the bite on her lip, dropping onto the pure white of her jacket, staining it a brilliant crimson and reminding her that despite the fact that she ascended so, her body still bleeds and breaks as a mortal's does. It still cries out at night in the same manner as it did eons ago and the scars of that War still ache. It is perfect in it's imperfection. And yet, the one who she cared most about found her body to be quite repulsive, for her was the one that damaged it so. The scars trailing down her back, he put them there and for good reason. She deserved to take the pain. But here she is regardless, trying to right her wrongs. Not just for his sake but for the sake of all of her children whom she had forsaken in her foolish attempts at trying to fix that which was not broken.

 

Her eyes – she can not even remember the colour of them, she has hidden her face for so long – reflect a certain sadness about them as she graces her hand across the button. The beginning of this story has taken far too long, she decides, and now she must speed it along using any means necessary.

 

As she awaits the familiar voice of her most beloved servant, his skin is so much smoother than what she is used to, she recalls the words she said so long ago and laughs at her own folly. She had truly meant them at the time and if given the chance, she would mean them again.

 

“Know the plans I have for you.” She said to them, and to her daughter and to her lovers. “Plans to prosper you and not to harm you; plans to give you hope and a future.”

 

And did she not harm them? Does their blood not stain their hands? Do the roses with their thorns (digging into their bodies) not look quite similar to the colour that stains her lips? And did she deliver what was promised? No, not at all. Their hope was scattered and shattered the moment that woman died (she shall never forget her eyes, so full of a righteous golden flame) and their future now shakes and is held in the hands of a few mere monsters, who have forgotten what it feels like to have hope.

 

“Hope, and a future.” She remarks bitterly into her throne of eternal stars.

 

She laughs in her resentment and in her foolishness, lamenting the last remaining traces of irony and the stars mourn the loss of her sanity as they bite unto their lips in Chagrin.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First interlude. Can you guess who 'God' is?


	13. Keep Yourself Alive

Keep Yourself Alive

 

“ _Please, keep yourself alive.” The words echo throughout his head and yet, he can not recall which woman said them._

 

_The pink faded into white and the white was dyed into red. Her smile – was it cruel or tender? – still lurks and lingers in the back of his mind. The colour of her lips – what colour were they again? – were a brilliant pink/white/red shade of which he tried so desperately to hold on to and yet, in the particularly lazy breeze of a dull summer's sunset, that cherished memory blew away and no matter of searching could find it but he vaguely recalls the first woman. Her hair, it was white, right? No... that can't be right._

 

_Even in his dreams, he can't remember her. Only three smiles hanging in the brain he wore out. One for Rahab, one for Sol and one for... the last one was for who again? It doesn't matter. Come the morning, he won't remember any of this, again. And the next night, he won't figure it out._

 

_The only thing he holds on to are those sacred words of hers. Her deep/smooth/gentle voice that softened his mind and pierced his heart, he can not remember even that._

 

“ _Please, for my sake and the sake of this Paradise, keep yourself alive!” Ah, that was it._

 

_What she said... that woman, that's it..._

 

-*-

 

Ky feels like screaming. This is the second time within the past week that he has been disappointed and embarrassed by the supernatural. First the Changeling, now the Divine Being acting as if what he was doing was strange. This was just him showing his gratitude, surely they understand that. Even that other Major (a distasteful young boy that was much too far over his head) would have done the same thing. Surely they can get behind that, surely.

 

“I am... bowing.” The Officer stutters out, shocked at the sight of the being.

 

She looks more like a devil child than an angel. Her long black hair washes out her face, making it seem quite pale and her red eyes burn deeply and roughly but the softness behind them is quite soothing. The man on the other hand, is everything Major Ky Kiske hates. Skin tanned from field work, piercing golden eyes that burn with a righteous fire, long brown hair that must be an nightmare to keep that nice and an overpowering scent of stale cigarettes and sweat hanging off of him. In short, this man reminded him of an old soldier he once knew and that blade hanging at his (large) hip gave off strange feelings.

 

The boy stands up, frowning.

 

“You.” He commands, pointing towards the bulky man.

 

“I've got a name you know.” The man snorts.

 

“What are you doing with a Holy Relic?” The boy asks, his face calm but cold, showing the correct amount of emotion.

 

“...” The man squints a little bit and turns his head, obviously not understanding what Ky thought was a simple question.

 

The young woman seems rather confused too, her eyes growing wide as she tilts her head, much like a cat.

 

“Ohhhhh....” The bulky one drawls after a few more seconds. “You mean this piece of shit, right?”

 

He lifts up the Fireseal, treating it so roughly that it has already developed several chips and scratches in the paintwork.

 

“I've got it cause I do. That good enough for you?” He asks.

 

Major Kisaragi thinks he has problems, hah! He should try calling him after some ruffian in a red coat shows up at _his_ office!

 

“Sol, please.” The woman sighs, taking a few steps away from her companion.

 

“I will have to ask you to answer the question. How do you have the Fireseal?” Ky repeats, his voice not wavering, not even flinching.

 

“Look... I just found it one day when I woke up. And because I didn't remember anything about who or what I was, I took it and ran off and made a life for myself. Okay?” The man answers, his hands twitching as he speaks showing that he still isn't quite over it.

 

“I see. Are you in that case, Mr. Badguy?” The last two words are rather humorous but the boy doesn't laugh often so he doesn't get the joke in the name.

 

“Yeah. I'm everybody's Mister Badguy.” Sol remarks, his voice mocking in tone.

 

Ky sighs and takes a deep breath, now was not the time for disrespect and jokes.

 

“You are the Divine Messenger sent to me? Ah... God works in mysterious ways.” The boy mumbles.

 

“He sure does.” The bulky man breathes, trying to hide that fact that he ever said that.

 

The woman blinks a few times.

 

“Divine Messenger? Who told you about that?” The woman asks, her red eyes reflecting some kind of strange wisdom and more age than a young woman like her should have,

 

“The Changeling. He said his name was Johnny.” Ky responds, thinking nothing of it despite it meaning everything.

 

“Johnny? Oh, how interesting.” The woman frowns.

 

Maybe the two of them were lovers once? After all, Ky got the impression that Johnny was something of a playboy. That poor woman, she must have been so heartbroken by the bastard.

 

“And did this Johnny tell you what we're here for?” Sol asks, his eyes lightening up with passion.

 

Ky shakes his head slowly, not wanting to aggravate that fire or set tensions off again despite the fact that he is still quite angry about the lose of that weapon.

 

“No, but I had assumed you came here regarding The Midnight Carnival.” The Officer explains, finally sheathing his sword.

 

Both of the messengers stand cold, their eyes reflecting an emotion that Ky can not quite place but he thinks it might be fear.

 

“The Midnight Carnival? You're telling me that you know about 'em?”

 

“Yes... Not that much, however. The only things that me and my men have been able to glean is that their headquarters are currently located in Barcelona, they are operating under the pretense that they are a brothel and that there are three members.” He explains, cutting to the chase immediately.

 

“Are you sure it was three?” Sol questions, eerily serious.

 

“Yes absolutely. A Chinese vampire, a Changing Breed and a Mage.” The boy confirms, nodding his head sharply.

 

“Well shit. First I've heard bout that.” The man spits. “Well then, we need to get to Barcelona as soon as possible. Can't risk 'em leaving.”

 

Ky shakes his head.

 

“I'm sorry but the Sabbat are taking up our time. Once we have dealt with them, we shall move on to The Midnight Carnival but not before.”

 

The bulky man growls; primitive but effective and oh so very awe-inspiring. This truly was a Divine Being.

 

“We have to go now or we'll lose the witch!” The man hisses, the veins in his neck much more pronounced.

 

“Sol, chasing after that woman is pointless if we can't even get out of the damn city! Let the boy do his job, then we go.” The woman seems so much more cool headed, a relief.

 

Ky was under the impression that they are equally as hot-blooded.

 

“Fine, whatever.” Sol pouts, his sword's temperature flaring up with his own.

 

It seems that the blade actually welcomes this man as it's master, how bizarre. It had only registered in this manner towards one other person.

 

Ky shakes the thoughts out of his head. There is no point in reminiscing on times long since past. The present is much more important now.

 

“Shall I show you two to your room?” He asks. “Oh wait, my lady, I never got your name.”

 

He extends his hand out towards the woman, trying to show her the utmost of chivalry.

 

“...” The woman sneers down at him, a strong feeling of red hot hatred dripping down from the curl of her lip. “My name is Testament and I am--”

 

Her partner cuts her off with a sharp slap to the back of the head.

 

“Ow, what on earth was that for?!” She shrieks.

 

“Just leave the kid be... understand?” The man replies, adding a strange emphasis on 'understand'.

 

“Right... Well... Thank you Major.” The woman says, granting Ky the privilege of touching her hand.

 

Her skin is as soft and as smooth as silk and the paleness only grows more endearing with every passing second. This woman was beautiful, yes but she still did not compare to the one hiding inside his memory. Ky does not like to admit this but, he is quite fond of more masculine women and always has been. Occasionally a more feminine woman will strike his fancy but on those occasions, she had tended to be very in-tune with the supernatural and relationships with monsters never last. He wish he knew that before.

 

“Will we be sharing a room?” Testament, he wonders if she goes by Tessie for short, asks, her melodic voice ringing as if it were a song.

 

And yet, he still did not find her attractive. A shame. A right shame.

 

“You and your companion? I would hope so. We only have one spare. Although, you are a lady so I can understand your issue with that... I will share my bed with your companion and you can have the room all to yourself, is that better?” The Officer asks like a right gentleman.

 

“Oh yes, absolutely!” The woman giggles, hiding her mouth with her hand quite demurely.

 

“Then I shall arrange for that, my lady.” Ky smiles, pleased that she has gotten over her anger so quickly.

 

He leads her by the hand through several bloodied doorways and to a large staircase. This particular set of stairs reaches throughout the entire building, leading to every floor but it was rather steep so people would use the more complicated routes to avoid it. Ky, being the practical man he is, never did. In his practicality (and in his self-destructiveness and his martyr complex) he took this particular staircase up even when it was pitch black and he couldn't see a think.

 

“Watch your step, please.” He asks, leading Testament up the stairs.

 

The hard soles of his boots and the soft leather ones of hers make quite the song together but the angry thumping of work boots drowns them out. Ky smiles at the sound, nostalgia running through his veins. He remembers the sound of those boots. Back in The Crusades, work boots were all the rage. He wonders if this man before him was a veteran of some sort. The surely demeanor, the particular brand of clothing he wore, the boots and how easily he handles even a holy blade leads Ky to believe he was an old soldier, much like himself.

 

He's found that soldiers go one of two ways, either they return to the earth and they lose all damns they give about anyone but themselves or they care too much and they embrace learning and hope and dreams. And yet, he wasn't surely which side he falls on anymore. He used to be so idealistic, so passionate, where did that go? Now, just the word 'hope' makes him feel like vomiting. There are too many memories associated with it and he just wants to let them go. He wants to pretend as if The Crusades never happened but everywhere it lingers, in everyone he speaks to it lingers and in his dreams it lingers. It has become a part of him and a part of his world so much that the only way to be rid of it would be to die. No, then he would be simply remembered as Major Ky Kiske, the Hope of the Crusades. He wonders if he'll ever just be Ky to anyone again.

Before he realizes it, they've ascended the stairs and reached Testament's room. The previous occupant of it was transferred to a different division and as they were already short on men, there was no one to fill it. And as it previously belonged to a woman, it should be very comfortable to Testament. He knew that the men of this organization gave special gifts to women and figured that if all were happy with that arrangement then he would not interfere. No point in starting an argument over such a small thing. Although, he isn't really thrilled with staying with the man of the group. He feels a strange aura coming from him and he isn't sure how that will effect either of them. But he made a promise so he will deal with it.

 

“There you go, my lady. This is your room. It's just down the hall from mine so if you need help or any of the soldiers here bother you, simply scream my name and I shall come to assist.” He says, releasing her hand at last.

 

“Thank you.” She smiles back, slamming the door in his face immediately afterward.

 

Sol snickers.

 

“I think she likes you.”

 

“That's not important right now, but thank you. First, I need to set you up in my room. You don't mind sharing the bed do you?” He asks, he's always been very innocent you see.

 

“Nah, of course not.” The man replies with a shrug.

 

“Good.”

 

He leads the man down the hall and into the bedroom. He has to duck underneath the door. The Holy Orders division didn't have anyone over six foot, you see. And actually, it didn't have anyone larger than two hundred pounds so Sol's fairly lucky he was able to squeeze through at all. And there was definitely no way that Sol would be fitting onto Ky's bed without some scruching. While it was fairly wide (it had to be to fill up the space in Ky's room and make it seem less empty than it really was) it was still designed for someone six foot tall, five inches below Sol's height. And it would probably bend beneath Sol's immense weight, if not break.

 

Regardless, the man jumps onto the bed, Ky nearly shrieks as the wood cracks and bends beneath him and yet, the bed does not break. At least, not fully. It groans and lets out a death wail but it at least stays together.

 

“Comfy.” The man grins, letting his feet dangle off over the end of the bed.

 

“Please, be gentle with it!” The Officer exclaims, putting a fair bit of emotion into his voice.

 

He has always been the 'anal retentive' sort, or so his men say.

 

“Hey, it didn't break.” The man says with a smirk.

 

But before Ky can say anything, the man looks him up and down with a grin.

 

“Come on and get next to me. You look like shit.” He says. No, demands.

 

And Ky has been choosing his battles carefully lately so he climbs on beside Sol, finding himself uncomfortable with the proximity they share.

 

“Bad day at work?” He asks it as if they were close friends rather than strangers shaping up to be enemies.

“Yes.” The boy finds himself answering truthfully despite his training.

 

“What happened?”

 

How strange that they could speak like this. It was almost relaxing...

 

“Major Jin Kisaragi was being an ass again.” He explains with a sigh of resignation. “Something about his brother. He's so obsessed it's beginning to make me uncomfortable. And Commander Noel Vermillion too. That poor girl, having to work under such a man. Whenever we met, I ask her to transfer but she won't have it. She's far too dedicated to that job.”

 

“That all?”

 

“Well... I don't like the Changeling I'm working with. I believe he was flirting with me and if my superiors found out about that, I could be tried for sodomy.”

 

“Hah, why's your biggest issue with what your superiors think? I figured you would find that kinda thing 'distasteful'. You are Theocracy after all.”

 

Ky notes that Sol is rather passionate about the subject and the tone of his voice, makes Ky feel like this is someone he can trust.

 

“We just met, you can't expect me to just go talking about everything with you already.” He points out.

 

“Afraid I'll tell?” The man retorts, half joking, half not.

 

“Yes.” Frank, plain answers really are the easiest.

 

“Well, if I tell you a secret about me then I'll have a reason not tell tell anyone.”

 

“Fine. I miss The Crusades 'don't ask, don't tell' policy. It was easier than these pointless witch hunts we have nowadays. We have lost many a good soldier, of both genders, to this foolishness and it is obvious that a few of our superiors are showing favoritism. Major Kisaragi and myself are assumed to be homosexuals by the majority of our posts and yet we were spared due to our rank. Frankly, I find it... unpleasant.”

 

“Yeah I get it. And I won't tell anyone about it cause I've engaged in my fair share of 'sodomy'.” The man has such a smile in his voice that this conversation is almost amusing.

 

“Oh dear... Perhaps I should not have shared my bed with you after all, Divine Messenger.” The boy snickers, feeling more relaxed than he has in a long time.

 

This man reminds him of The Crusades. Every word he says, every movement he makes, remind him of the good parts. So he's getting along nicely with him, even though he really shouldn't there is just something very familiar about this man.

 

“This room better be sound proof.” Sol mutters.

 

“Because of our conversation? Or something else?” The Officer asks, his voice softening along with his eyes.

 

“This conversation. Don't want to be hanged before we've gotten to know each other.”

 

“You say it as if we are already friends. You must work harder than that.”

 

“Hard work isn't in my vocabulary, kiddo.”

 

“Oh, is it not? My apologies.”

 

Their bantering is interrupted by a harsh ringing. Ky's body tenses up again, his back forming into knots that even a thousand boy scouts could not outdo.

 

He stumbles off the bed and grabs onto the phone, stress radiating off of him as if it were a sun.

 

“What, what is it?” He hisses, mostly by accident.

 

“A suspicious truck has entered the country Major, followed by what appears to be a Ghoul. We believe that there may be Hunters within the vehicle.” The boy, he can't be older than fifteen, replies.

 

“Damn it... I'll deal with them.” The Officer explains, rubbing his forehead with his free hand to try and calm himself down. “After I deal with the Sabbat. That's most important. But you, have some of the local police officers try and slow them down. Get them for parking violations or speeding or something like that.”

 

“Yes Sir, God bless you.”

 

“God bless you.”

 

Ky lets out a deep sigh.

 

“A Major's work is never done.” He smiles, his face looking at least ten years older than it really was.

 

He grabs his blade and makes a motion to walk out.

 

“Hey kid, you need a hand? I'm bored so I figured I might help you out with that little Sabbat problem of yours.” The man drawls, his voice dragging out.

 

“Yes, come. I want to see your skills.” Ky answers. He's gone back into soldier mode and now all chances they had at a pleasant conversation are gone.

 

“Alright.”

 

Sol creaks off the bed, dragging the Fireseal along behind him. Ky takes another deep breath, makes a note to get the bed replaced and disappears through the door, ready for whatever Kindred they have sent him this time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They hit off well. Almost like they already knew each other.


	14. Dogs on the Run

Dogs on the Run

 

_She slid across the bar's countertop, vinyl skirt wrinkling against the finely polished wood, and onto his lap. He didn't know her but her eyes, he can't quite remember the colour but he thinks they might have been green or gold... maybe blue, looked so charming that he couldn't help but buy her a drink. He can't remember what she drank, he remembers how she drank it. Her cherry red lips left a ring around the glass and she downed a pint in less than a minute. Her smirk afterwards was nothing short of smug but he didn't mind. Confident girls were the most charming. And while he can't remember her name, he remembers how confident she is. There was no way he could forget about that, especially considering how rare it is to find a girl dressed like that these days._

 

_He remembers that she said she worked at a Brothel but he can't remember where it was. He remembers what he thighs felt like when she touched his hand against them though and what colour they were. A milky white that contrasted so nicely with the deep red of her clothes. He remembers looking into the mirror behind the bar and seeing his own face, pale white studded with red, flustered and embarrassed. This was the first time since Megumi that a pretty girl showed him any attention, after all. But there was this lingering feeling of doubt hiding in the back of his mind. He can remember that, too._

 

_And he remembers what he felt when she took him into the back room. Her hair smelt like raspberries and her skin was softer than silk, except for the skin on her hands which was rough and calloused by years of guitar but it still felt pretty nice. The look of determination in her eyes was really charming too. The kiss she gave him was surprisingly gentle, almost like a kiss goodnight, and her lipstick must have been cheap because he could see it on his lips as he glanced into the shattered mirror hanging on the wall. And he thinks she put her hand on his chest, searching for something, but he can't be sure. He's certain she leaned in close and whispered something to him but he doesn't quite recall what. When he tries to think back on it, it sounds like she's speaking gibberish. He wonders if it was a different language or if he is just mentally blocking it._

 

_Her remembers the smile crossing her lips as she told him to close his eyes. He remembers the joy he felt when he did. And he remembers what happened afterwards. The force of her guitar swung against his head caused some bruising, he was sure. It made him so dizzy that he couldn't stand up but he did open his eyes. He remembers her frown and the blue paint chips streaked into his hair. He forgets her name but he remembers the guitar's. He wakes up hours later, dazed, confused and upset. Not because she had just robbed him of something so important he can't remember but because he forgot about her._

 

_He remembers her thighs and her cherry red lips but he can't recall the name. The taste of her lips and his hands on his hips, but he forgot her face, again._

 

-*-

 

“And what about you kid?” The woman asks .

 

It's been a couple hours of silence and everyone else has gone off doing their own things. The dog they picked up has drifted off to sleep, snoring really loudly and occasionally talking in his sleep, and the black guy's been sketching on his pad in the corner, acting like he can't hear what's going on at all. Actually, it must have gotten pretty late because the sun's up again. Looks like he hasn't slept all night. What a shame.

 

“Eh?” He's too tired to try and make a complete sentence.

 

That whole ordeal last night with the interrogation of those two other guys left him exhausted. Listening to that guy drone on and on, just dumping info, that was so annoying. But he did say some pretty interesting stuff, so Axl's supposes it's alright.

 

The Lasombra have always been an interesting Bloodline, the only one he hasn't borrowed an eye off yet. So their thoughts remain a complete mystery to him but he is aware that the line is mostly made up of influential people who always felt like they were 'second best'. They tended to have a manipulative and narcissistic personality and treat people like objects. In short, they were a group of sociopaths, manipulating each other, their servants and the other lines for their own personal gain. But they never knew much of anything as opposed to their allies, the Tzimisce, who knew a lot about everything but everything they knew was so jumbled and aged, it was totally worthless. He tried taking an eye off one of them once but they knew nothing about modern day Corax, must less about this one. This particular Tzimisce kept talking about a Corax he knew back in The First Crusades and how handsome he was. It was a huge waste of time.

 

“What about you? What's your story?” She pursues discussion even though it should be obvious he isn't really paying attention. “I heard theirs so I wanna know yours.”

 

But you know, she's so charming, he'll answer her anyway. So gathering his mental reserves, he debates the best way to go about this. On one hand, the truth was the easiest and the most convenient option but he doesn't want to reveal his Kinfolk nature just yet so he'll be vague about it and hope she doesn't really notice.

 

“I'm looking for a relative. I heard they were up in Barcelona.” He explains, hoping she won't ask him to go any further into it.

 

She'll definitely kick him out if she figures out how broken and fucked up he is, he's sure.

 

“That's all? Then this must really suck for you kid. Wrapped up with a bunch of criminals just cause you got help from the wrong people.” She's trying to make light of it but she sounds like she feels pretty guilty. At least to Axl.

 

“Eh. It's not such a big deal.” He's not sure his voice sounds appropriately chill enough so he folds his legs over.

 

“Sure, whatever you say.” She laughs that deep bellied “I'm having such a good time right now” laugh of hers.

 

Well, he must be doing something right if she finds him so funny. Or something horribly, horribly wrong. Ah well, he'll continue regardless. Giving up, just isn't his style. And guessing by the looks of his companions, it isn't theirs either. They'll stand together in this ruined world of theirs. Like they do in the books, he guesses.

 

“Hey, Baiken?” He finds it best to give her warning about questions first. She has such a sharp temper that not doing that might set her off.

 

“Yeah?” Guess like she's okay with him asking.

 

“Why are you going to Barcelona?” So he continues.

 

She stops for a minute, looking out of character in her pensiveness, before turning towards him.

 

“Cause the kid asked me to take him up there.” She replies, short and to the point.

 

“But why are you with him?” He won't be subdued by such flimsy answers.

 

“I couldn't just leave some kid lying in the dirt. Specially not with a vampire around. So I took him. Problem?”

 

Ah, she was getting testy, better shut the conversation down as fast as possible.

 

“No, no! Sorry if I implied that! I was just curious, yeah?” He asks, hoping to have soothed her.

 

“Yeah, whatever.”

 

She continues focusing on her driving. Which must be rather hard with one hand. But you know, the other options were a kid without his driver's license, a dog and Venom. Now, Axl isn't sure what was up with this Venom guy but he seems really... off somehow. Maybe it's the way he dresses or his attitude but he makes Axl really nervous. Those cold, blue eyes of his are just unnerving somehow and the constant aura of otherwordlyness about him doesn't help, either. And when their eyes meet, Axl feels a chill creep up his spine. Even though he can't see those eyes, he can feel them on him.

 

He tries to escape by looking across at the junkie he helped pick up. This was the Metis from earlier, he was sure, which is why he insisted he be picked up as well. He was so helpful on this quest of his and his eyes were so sad that he couldn't help but take him in. Except, now that he thinks about it, the guy is actually pretty weird. His mother always told him there were no coincidences so he wasn't just going to believe that the man responsible for the Erica Bartholomew situation would simply waltz on to the same truck that a high ranking member of the Assassin's Guild just because he needed a ride. There was definitely more to this and damn it, Axl was going to find out. Eventually. After he finds his relative of course. That was the most important thing.

 

He needs to find the creature responsible for this curse of his and see if they can remove it. Or at least, teach him how to use it. And some of the other ones. He knows there is another Gift he can use, one that pierces the veil between the Umbral, the Abyss and their current Reality, at least that's what that Nagah told him. If he can figure out how to use that one, if it exists because he's heard that the Nagah aren't really the most trustworthy bunch of folks, then he can definitely find Megumi, no matter where she is. She's been gone for two years now, without a word of where she's gone or how she's been doing. It's about time they have a reunion. And if that Corax, even if they aren't related, can help then that's just perfect.

 

“Your aura is strange.” The black guy mumbles, yanking him out of his thoughts. That guy's voice is so soft it's hard to imagine it belongs to a man, much less one as masculine as him. “It resonates within my eye.”

 

“Eh?” Feigning ignorance is the best way to deal with your problems, yeah?

 

“You would not happen to be a Buzzard, would you? I have only felt this much pain in my eye once before and it was around one of them.” The man explains, back to his strangely wordy yet wordless way of speaking.

 

“Sorry, I don't know anything about Buzzards!”

 

Which was sort of true. They were so rare that he never touched one of their eyes before. But he knew they were Changing Breeds of the Carrion type like the Corax and they learnt their Magics from Vulture Spirits and stuff like that so none of the other Breeds liked them. They thought they were too similar to the Ratkin, perhaps?

 

“I see.” The man mutters, returning to his sketching without letting on what he knows.

 

Axl swears he sees the eye on his hair blink right before he turns around. This guy was just a nightmare, an accident waiting to explode.

 

Nobody even knew if this guy was even human. With powers like these, there's no way he could be and yet everyone just assumes otherwise. He must be something pretty strong too because the last time Axl checked, Vitae worked on pretty much all humans and (after The Crusades ripped the Werewolves and Changing Breeds immunity from them) shapeshifters. It worked on the Changelings and the Mages too. The only ones that he wasn't sure about were the Asian and African vampires, which Venom obviously wasn't, the Wraiths and mummies. But this man seemed very much alive. How strange. Another secret that isn't really his problem but the raven's blood inside of him begs to be fulfilled. He's got to figure out one of their secrets eventually, at least.

 

With a sigh, Axl turns on the radio. He turns on the Classical Music channel and waits for the familiar sounds of Queen to play. They were Fredrick's favourite band so they were his, too. Way better than that crap they play these days.

 

“We are interrupting this channel to bring you an important news bulletin.” Well there goes his relaxation. This posh, whiny sounding chap's stolen that right from him.

 

“Well, we'll tell you little shits after this speech from our sponsor! Yeah that's right you Egyptian looking motherfucker, you dogs on the run, it's your--” A lighter voice that Axl vaguely remembers from just a little while ago pipes up.

 

“Shut up.” A deep voice snaps, grabbing the mic from the other two. Well, that's what Axl presumes by the sound of it being dragged across a table. “This is not your place to speak. Why don't you go back off to the Tzimisce and leave us adults to speak, yes?”

 

The blonde turns around to speak to Baiken only to find Venom right beside him, kneeling before the radio as if it were a Holy Relic. His hands are twitching very gently in a manner that only people with good eyesight and perception would notice. Axl does, notice that is, of course.

 

“What's the problem?” Baiken asks, trying to keep her eyes on her road and her voice down. Maybe she's aware she has anger issues?

 

“Master Zato.” The assassin replies in a hushed voice. “This is my Master's voice speaking out to me.”

 

His Master sounds hot. You know... for a dude.

 

“Venom. I know you are listening to this and I want you to know this.” The voice is so monotone, so unflinching that it's hard to believe that it isn't just a recording. “Because of that woman, I am dying.”

 

With that perception skill of his, Axl can hear the man's breath hitching in his throat, catching and choking inside of him.

 

“No.” The word is whispered out so quietly that the man sounds almost like a lost child. Maybe that was what he was. It's hard to place his age, you know.

 

“Yes. Very slowly, very quietly, I am dying. But I do not blame her. Even if she came right now to finish the job, I would not blame her because I love her so much. So I have come to ask you a favour. If you see Millia Rage, do not kill her. If you kill her, I will never forgive you.”

 

Venom begins to twitch quite violently, his hands clenching and unclenching in a cycle and if you were to listen in, you would be able to hear his breathing has grown uneven.

 

He stands up from the ground very slowly and places his hand against the radio, his fingers brushing lightly against the handle in the kind of sadness that Axl is sure he doesn't understand.

 

“My apologies for my defiance Master. I swear that as long as you life, I shall not touch a hair on that woman's head.” His hair shakes, indicating that Venom's moved his hair for once. “Instead, I will find you and spend as much time with you as possible.”

 

“Venom, no, stand down. This is not your place.” The stranger's voice firms up.

 

“Bastard! How can you hear us?!” The samurai woman snaps, ready to switch back into her murderous psychopath persona.

 

“It is very much my place, Master. My place is by your side, assuring that you live and prosper as you do so! I have no other place! I have nothing else but this Master!” The assassin practically spits the words out. “Baiken, let me drive!”

 

“Don't tell me what to do, bastard. But you better tell me what the hell is going on this time around!” She obviously hates being out of the loop and for the past day, she's been stuck questioning what's going on without being able to do anything about it.

 

“This is Master Zato, the man I told you about yesterday. He has just told me that Millia Rage, his lover, is slowly murdering him for a reason I have not yet determined, although I may make an educated guess.” Venom explains rather matter-of-fact-ly.

 

“Venom! That is not what I said!” That Zato guy's mask finally shatters and he screams.

 

“My apologies Master.” Venom replies. “I did not mean to offend you. Please, stay where you are and I shall make up for my insolence.”

 

“Ven--”

 

The radio shatters beneath the well timed swing of a thick, wooden pool cue; cutting off all contact between them and the Sabbat. The man kicks the pieces of it behind himself, a sort of catharsis from what must have been an intensely distressing moment.

 

He takes a deep breath.

 

“Now, Baiken, may I drive? Or at least, give directions to where Master is?” His tone is too simple and too calm, revealing what was wrong with him. At least, a part of it. He was emotionally numb, that was clear. But Axl still isn't sure how or why because he seems strangely compassionate despite the issues he has with himself and his own emotions.

 

“Depends. Where is he?” The woman asks, seemingly resigned to whatever was going on with this guy.

 

“Paris. I could tell by the background noise that he is in Paris.” The gentleness returns to his voice.

 

“Not out of our way, so fine. I'll get your little boyfriend for you.” She sneers at the word boyfriend. “In return, you gotta help me find this guy, alright? I'll help all of you kids with your issues as long as you help me.”

 

Venom nods without a second of hesitation.  
  


“Of course. That is only fair.”

 

Axl wonders if that includes him. Probably. Well, finding most people wasn't hard for him. It was the people he wanted to find most of all that he couldn't. He isn't sure why but it was probably just the universe's bad sense of humour and love of irony.

 

He sits down with a sigh and turns to stare out the window. With a jolt, he realizes he remembers something important but by the time he turns to speak, it's already much too late.

 

The truck's already been stopped cold by the Theocracy's road block.

 

“Well shit.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For once, nothing to say.


	15. A Daredevil

A Daredevil

 

_He clutched tightly onto the animal's neck, tears streaking down his blood stained face and pooling onto the dirt below. The white and gold fur matted to his hands, covered in sweat and the ever present smell of the dead. The brain matter of a woman whose name the boy can not quite recall remained stuck to his hands and his check and the smell of her still lingered on both the boy and the dog. It was strong enough to make the incoming soldiers nearly vomit and the sight of them was enough to drive the boy to do the same._

 

_He clutched onto that dog tighter, sobbing into her bare back that smelled of iron and of shit._

 

“ _Please don't kill my dog.” He whimpered out, his hoarse voice was barely a whimper in the night. “Do whatever you want to me but please don't kill her.”_

 

_The iron faces and the iron footsteps did naught to reassure him of their continued survival but as long as that dog lived, it did not matter what happened to him._

 

“ _What should we do?” A soldier whose name the boy wishes he remembered asked, turning his head towards the centre of the platoon._

 

_Before anyone could answer, a very small man in very small armour walked in, his joints creaking with age. The wrinkles on his face made his eyes almost completely invisible and his furrowed brow made him look somewhat like a dwarf. If the boy had been in a better mood, he would have laughed._

 

“ _Captain Kliff!” Someone, he can't remember who, cried out, stepping aside._

 

_The boy had only heard of one Captain before and in fear, he gripped tightly, practically throwing himself onto the dog to protect her life for her loved her so._

 

“ _Please.” He whimpered regardless, begging someone, anyone, God, to spare this creature the fate that his... his... He can't even think it... The memory is still too painful._

 

“ _Are you men or monsters?” The Captain asked, his voice burning with a righteous anger. “Take the boy and his dog with us. It is only right.”_

 

_So gathering his mental reserves, the boy left the ruins of his home, his tiny hand clutching ever so tight to that of his Captain's._

 

-*-

 

And to think, now he was dealing with traffic violations. Well, technically he's dealing with traffic violations. In truth, he was using this as a cover. You see, the persons within that truck have not committed any other crime he is aware of so he shall have to get them on the red light they ran back in Italy.

 

Grabbing his pad and paper, he hopes they look official enough, he knocks on the window. An East Asian looking woman with neon pink hair and peach coloured eyes lounges in the driver's seat, sneering at him. Besides her unusual colouring, there are only two notable things about her. The first, she is barely wearing any clothes and what she is wearing appears to be some kind of Chinese robe that reveals an absurd about of cleavage; out of the corner of his eye he can see some of the men, and some of the women, have developed reddened cheeks at the sight. The second, she is missing her left eye and her right arm. Now, he can't be sure but he is fairly certain that is somehow another traffic violation. Ooh, he'll have her license for that.

 

“Open the window.” He states, trying to seem as much like an ordinary street cop as possible. Then again, the barricade probably tipped them off that this was no ordinary pull-over.

 

She reluctantly rolls the window down regardless, glaring at him all the while with that piercing eye of hers.

 

“Whaddya want, _Officer?_ ” She sneers the last word out as if were a curse word.

 

He takes a peer in through the window, trying to see if there were any weapons or something similar in there. And while he quickly confirms there isn't, something else grabs his eye. There's a blonde boy (can't be older than eighteen) sitting in the seat next to her, looking rather concerned about something or other. He has a bandana with the Union Jack on it, leading Ky to believe that he's either English or a big fan of some kind of band or sports team originating from there, and is wearing a set of clothes that look like something right out of a period piece. Must be one of those kids with an obsession with the past. He's wearing his seat belt however and doesn't look like any missing or wanted person so he'll ignore him. Although, he will keep that stressed face in mind.

 

“Did you know that you ran a red light earlier?” He sounds so nonchalant that his men start to giggle in the background. He'll reprimand them for that later.

 

“Nope.” She replies, obviously aware of what he's trying to pull. “Can't say I did.”

 

“I see.” He won't give away his intentions so easily. He's a Major, after all.

 

“Can we go then?” The blonde beside her asks, staring at him with wide eyes.

 

Ky whips a book out of his pocket and grabs a pen.

 

“No. Actually, I want to check the back of your car for drugs. And we're going to run your license plate to see if the truck's stolen too.” He smiles in the hope that the woman has a bit of a thing for girly boys. By the looks of the young man beside her, she does.

 

His real motive for checking is to stall them. Also to see how many other peo--

 

“We do not consent to any searches.” A voice in the background pipes up.

 

Alright, that's one other person. He isn't sure if it's a delicate voiced man or a deep voiced woman or neither but the owner appears to be fairly intelligent by the way he structures his sentences.

 

“Well if you don't have anything to hide then you shouldn't mind, yes?” He smiles even wider, this time in an attempt to unnerve the woman into consenting.

 

“I understand. However, we still do not consent to any searches.” The voice replies with a certain... learned quality behind it.

 

Ky takes a deep breath and turns to the woman.

 

“Alright then.” His smile somehow grows even more strained. He thinks he will need to see a doctor about this eventually. “License and registration?”

 

The woman sneers at him. Then, suddenly, she turns it into a smug smile.

 

She turns to her companion and snaps the fingers of her remaining hand.

 

“Axl, get the registration out of the glove compartment.” She demands.

 

The blonde, his eyes still the size of saucers, grabs the registration from the compartment and hands it to the woman. She smirks and waves it around.

 

“Didn't think I had this, did ya? Well here you go, the registration and my license...” She hands him the papers and reaches into her pocket, yanking out a small card. “See? This is my truck.”

 

The Officer is a little surprised it belongs to them considering he got a call from a trucker down in Southern Italy regarding a buff man, he didn't see anyone fitting that description in here but they could be in the back, stealing an eighteen wheeler and leaving a note claiming he was merely borrowing it. Perhaps it was someone else that stole some other truck then. Well, he can still drag out the act of writing the ticket or perhaps... perhaps he could trick them into either confessing to some other crime or letting him search the truck which would definitely stall them before they reached... wherever it was they were going. Probably to Barcelona or some other Sabbat owned city. These Hunters always picked large challenges. Perhaps to fuel their egos.

 

“I see.” He flips open his booklet and starts to very slowly write them a ticket.

 

“Yo, Officer, are we being detained?” Another voice, distinctly male, asks from the back. The smugness of it leads him to believe this is the sort of man that frequently has run-ins with the legitimate police. “If we are, I want a lawyer down here. Now.”

 

“Yes, if we are being detained, I would like to speak to my lawyers.” The original voice repeats.

 

It's apparent that the two of them have the same amount of experience with situations like this. How curious. If he had more time, Ky would definitely interrogate them and see if he could dig up any prior arrest records/bounties.

 

“Give me a moment.” Ky responds, trying to stall for as much time as possible.

 

He continues to write down the information, the sound of his pencil resounding through the barricade. He finishes writing up the ticket and presents it to the woman.

 

“Are we free to go?” The first voice repeats.

 

God, this was getting rather inconvenient. Technically, Ky wasn't even police and it's unlikely that any of this would stand in a court of law, especially the ticket, even if the Theocracy does in theory, own the courts. The right's violation would just be too much especially considering how Great Britain has been seeking independence from them. This just might push them to try.

 

“I'll have to check in with the station first.” But he'll keep on trying. He can't simply let these Hunters drive off and cause chaos in this city. Especially considering the fact that he vaguely recalls the woman in the driver's seat being wanted for some sort of major crime in The Middle Kingdom. But as he has no jurisdiction in any of the Asian countries, there is naught he can do to stop her or her friends here.

 

He turns around, giving one last glance to those saucers eyes of that boy, and returns to a car parked nearby. Sol is sitting inside with his legs folded and his feet kicked up on the dashboard, smoking away on a relatively small (for him at least) cigarette. Ky makes a mental note to air out the car later. Cigarette smoke always brings back such bad memories.

 

“What do you want?” The man asks, exhaling the smoke on the poor Officer.

 

Ky instinctively recoils; his nose wrinkling up at the scent.

 

“I need a reason to detain them.” He begins. “A couple of people are in the back of the truck and they appear to be well acquainted with their rights and they keep asking if they're free to go.”

 

“Oh?” Sol slowly takes his feet off the dashboard and taps on the cigarette, casually dropping the burning embers and ashes on the cushion. He'll never get the burn marks out. “I'll just beat the shit out of them then.”

 

Before Ky can reply and tell him “no, not that is not a good idea”, the bulky man has opened up the door and walked out towards the truck, clutching tightly onto the Fireseal.

 

Ky chases after him, his own sword held tight within his grip.

 

“Sol no!” The Officer cries out in vain.

 

And yet, all of his attempts are totally futile. Sol has already started banging on the door of the truck angrily.

 

“Open up! It's the police!” He shouts, looking rather pleased with himself despite now committing a very severe crime. While Ky had some right to pull stunts like this, Sol does not. And right now, the man was acting quite like a daredevil, doing things solely for the rush.

 

“My God, Sol don't!” The boy grabs tightly onto the back of his companion's jacket, tugging hard as to demonstrate the sheer amount of 'no'.

 

“I said open up p--!” Sol starts to scream.

 

“Fuck the police!” That soft, subtle voice calls from the back; the insult being lessened by the gentleness of the tone.

 

The look of horror and shock on Ky's face conveys it all. He has never in his life heard someone speak so foully to their superior, much less an Officer of the Law! … Which he wasn't but the point still stands.

 

He releases his grip from Sol's jacket and turns away. Let the fire's of heaven destroy them then. They know not the effort and the kindness that these men have put into their lives. They know not of the immense righteousness of the law. So gathering his mental reserves, he steps backwards and allows Sol to do as he will as a Divine Messenger of God.

 

“Right, fuck it.” Sol growls as he raises his Fireseal. “You've got til the count of ten to leave before I scorch your asses!”

 

The sound of bickering emanates from the truck, wafting over the entire road block. Unfortunately, the metal of the truck has muffled the sound quite greatly and rendered them all unable to understand what the Hunters are saying. However, a few seconds later, the woman in the driver's seat winds up the window and opens up the back.

 

“That's more like it.” Sol remarks, smirking at his perceived victory.

 

Ky opens his mouth to chastise him again but closes it soon after he sees what exactly the door was opened for.

 

A dog crawls out of the back, panting heavily. It's fur is glistening purely white and it's brilliant red eyes burn with the crimson spirit known as resolution.

 

“A dog?” Ky muses aloud.

 

The dog perks it's ears up at the sound, panting even more now. The saliva dripping down from it's face causes the rest of the road block to collectively flinch, not Ky though. He instead runs towards the dog, dropping his sword, smiling like he did as a young boy as he takes it into his arms. He strokes down the fur with his hand, forgetting what was so important about that truck.

 

“Ha. Dog's a daredevil.” Sol remarks.

 

Then a loud sound fills the place, like the sound of a garage closing. The truck's sealed itself off again and has started barreling through the barricade. The various soldiers blocking it off jump off into other parts of the road frantically trying to escape both the truck and the dog.

 

The two men exchange distressed glances, realizing that they had just allowed the Hunters to escape because they were distracted by some mangy dog.

 

Ky frowns and stands up, coughing as to detract from the fact that he just did that.

 

“Well, does anyone know where they're going?” He asks the crowd of men who shift with every movement of the animal.

 

A young man scratches his head.

 

“I heard they were going to Barcelona, Major Kiske.” The boy replies, grimacing at the sight of the dog's drool.

 

Ky pets the animal again. It's fur is completely white. A shame. If it had splotches of brown then it would be the spitting image of Magnolia Eclair.

 

“Barcelona? Well then Mr. Badguy, it looks like we will be investigating The Midnight Carnival after all. Shall we grab Testament and go?” The Officer asks, his mood lightening up a bit at the sight of the dog's magnificent coat.

 

Sol however, appears to still be angry.

 

“Whatever.” He snarls, crawling back into the car.

 

Ky shakes his head sadly. This Divine Messenger could use a bit more discipline but as he stands, he isn't that bad of a Messenger. Could be better, could be worse but Ky is sure that himself and Aquila here, that's the dog's name now, could help Sol grow stronger in his faith.

 

He opens the back of the car and gestures towards it.

 

“There you go!” He exclaims in a voice much like the one that new mothers give to their newborns. “This is a space just for you!”

 

Aquila cheerfully crawls into the back, petting the seat with his tail. Ky smiles gently and climbs into the driver's seat, turning the key in the ignition and speeds off. Time was of the essence now. There are currently three different factions operating against him and he needs to stop them as quickly as possible. Who knows what these Heathens seek to do to this city he's put the remains of his faith in? Who knows what they desire or what they search for? It could be worse than he imagined so he won't pull punches and he won't waste time. For her sake.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a shout out to a different Guilty Gear project under the works~ I associate Ky quite heavily with Gods.


	16. Writhe in Pain

Writhe in Pain

 

_His weakness, his cruelty and his cold gaze, she carries them with her._

 

_His lips brushed against her cheek, gently, gently. His fingers brushed against the bare skin of her thighs, gently, gently. His teeth bit into the bare skin of her throat, drinking in the ever sweet taste of her eternal virginity, gently, oh so very gently. Her life flashed before he eyes once again. It was so full of bitterness and loneliness and solitude. There was so much misery that she had asked to die that night. With her cracked, bloodied lips and her eyes, which had so long ago lost their shine, she asked to disappear from this Earth. But his love for her was much too strong and much too cruel so he cut her off right before she could fall into a pleasant dream._

 

_The blood dripped down from his mouth and onto the once purely white bedsheets, staining them a colour which, if he could still see with those white eyes of his, he would liken it to wine. And what was blood to a Kindred other than wine? What was it to him? He spilled both so freely that it seemed that he considered them to be the same. She wondered out of the corner of her mind if he considered her to be nothing more than an expensive wine glass that he refused to break solely because he paid so much for it. The idea was comforting in a pathetic sort of way._

 

_She muttered out into the night again, her lips moving so slowly that they might as well have not moved at all, crying out to whatever Gods were listening in her most sincere wish to die. As he bit into the porcelain skin covering her thigh, splattering them both in a brilliant array of crimsons, she wondered what sort of cruel God would surrender her unto this fate. She who had believed ever since a child in concepts like 'hope' and 'love' suddenly found her reality shaking. She knew longer knew this man or herself. The words he spoke sounded like random nonsense and the taste of iron that forced itself in between her lips was too bitter to handle. The hands that separated her legs were too forceful, the teeth that pierced themselves into her skin were too cold. He was hardly the man she loved anymore. And she herself was growing cold, her vision blanking in and out, the skin under her eyes growing sullen and dark as her lips stopped moving, slowly, oh so very slow._

 

_The feeling of a second set of teeth assaulting her, biting right at the heart would have made her scream if she had enough strength left to scream. Instead, she let out a most pathetic whimper into the darkness of her bedroom, praying that someone would come and let her rest. No one came. So she died. To some stranger in a dark room, naked and effectively (it was not as he cared for her anymore, he cared for the idea of her) alone, she died. Twelve hours later, greeting the afternoon sun, she woke up and the sun burnt every part of her it touched._

 

_He smiled beside her, gently, gently as he watched her writhe in pain._

 

-*-

 

She holds tightly onto the necklace around her neck, twisting the string. She almost wishes that it would snap right off and crack into a thousand pieces so that she may free herself from the memories of who he used to be. She still finds herself victimized by his feelings and by the memories of the man he once was and if he was a kinder person, she is sure she could have found inside of him once again. But, he is little more than a walking, talking shadow now. And just like this necklace, he latches himself onto her. She tried to remove it as well, but it forced itself upon her, refusing to release her from it's clutches or to give her the sweet reprise of death. She supposes the only thing she can do to rid herself of him would to be to remove him from this Earth and return his spirit to the afterlife of whence it came. Then and only then can she find happiness, she is sure.

 

Earlier this mourn, she had set his heart on fire and burnt it right up. Literally. He found her burning it in the hallway right outside her bedroom among the fallen corpses of assassins she took it upon herself to put out of their misery. She is sure that in another life, they would have thanked her for the act and Zato himself, he would have laid down and let her send him off to rest. But this is not a perfect world nor a perfect story and she is not the heroine. She was instead, forced to retreat, taking pleasure in only the fact that she had surely mortally wounded him. Yet, he is still Kindred so his death will still take too many years. No, she can not take the easy way out, killing him with a whimper. She must finish it by her own hand. She must end it either now or soon afterwards or she will surely fall into the Beast.

 

She clutches onto that necklace as if it were her own remaining strand of humanity, dancing so gently in her open palm. Her blonde hair forcibly entangles itself with it, trying to rip it from her. With a shriek, she yanks the fragile charm out from the curls, ripping out several strands which had found themselves stuck on the possession.

 

“Angra, stop.” She mutters, her voice lacking force but making up for it with passion.

 

The hair returns limply to it's original position, expressing it's anger by tugging on the little hairs on the back of her neck but it barely phases the woman. She takes a deep breath and continues on her way towards the radio station with the hope that Venom isn't in the area, or at least, isn't looking for her and/or Zato.

 

While she is aware that he is relatively weak compared to herself and to Angra, she still does not want to fight with him if only because his blood staining her hands might enrage the Beast once more and cause her to further fall into Hell. He would do nothing more than get in her way, as he always does. He is just a petulant child, clinging on towards a foolish, puppy love. Perhaps it's because he has nothing else. She can sympathize with that. She herself has been clinging onto Zato's love. Though, she at least remains aware the harm it causes. Venom has grown so enamoured with him that he can not see how Zato has changed; how that damn Beast has influenced him and taken control of even his thoughts. And she doesn't think he ever will. How sad.

 

It seems all three of them are equally pathetic. It is almost laughable. A trio of lost children tied by the red string of fate, strangling them and yanking them down. It sounds like the plot of a love story though she hardly thinks that anyone would write a love story about the three of them. It was too miserable, too unstable, too destructive for anyone to want. What they truly need to do is move on. She understands this well. The other two, and that Beast, do not. Ah, men are all the same. Chasing after things that will never come.

 

She wishes that she could change the colour of her hair for she is certain that Zato will know her just by the sight of the hair he loved so much. Sometimes, she thought he loved it more than he loved her. Oh, who is she kidding? She knows he loves it more than he ever loved her for he saw it as a sign of power. That Beast, it made him so obsessed with power and owning things. Or perhaps it merely brought the hidden desires to the surface. She wonders what Angra will bring to her, in that case.

 

She continues on her way down the sidewalk, the soles of her shoes making hardly a sound against the hard stone. She is somewhat thankful for that. However, she still sort of wishes that the outfit Zato had given her had included pants. The updraft was definitely hindering her pursuit of him, perhaps that's why he designed it. It is very hard to fight in clothing like this and she would have to work extra hard just to pull off moves she would were she fully dressed. And then there is Venom's chest window... she is starting to wonder if perhaps Zato's issues stem from some sort of internalized homophobia. Hah. If she were to bring that up, he would lose his mind. Again. Perhaps she will, just to see him writhe in pain.

 

The radio station looms just up ahead. Judging by the sight of the rubble falling off of it and the neon sign blinking irregularly, the place has been abandoned for quite some time. There are no cars parked anywhere and the sidewalk looks like it hasn't been updated since the earthquake ten years ago. The street is similarly cracked and junk lays discarded among piles of bones. Yet, the tower hangs above her in near perfect condition, blasting out whatever music it sees fit. Perhaps this is the territory of Wraiths. In that case, Zato is much more foolish than she first thought. Maybe they'll take mercy on her for her stupidity and strike him down for her. That is truly the best case scenario.

 

She walks in through the front door, caring not if any of his seeing eye dogs spot her. She'll kill the currs before the touch her skin. It won't be hard. These thin blooded vampires of the Sabbat know nothing of the suffering one must feel before they can truly be considered Kindred. Oh. Nevermind. They must have cleared off when Zato told them too. What loyal dogs. Much more loyal than Venom ever was, ironically enough. He who prided himself on his loyalty did little more than defy his Master's will and question his authority with a prideful yet submissive tone of voice. Venom always had a habit of jumping before Zato said how high. Of course, he'd always jump just a little bit too high. He was too foolish, too haughty, too eager to please. He performed well on paper and in the field but where it counted most, he always failed. Not to say that Millia looks down on him for it. Quite the contrary, she feels sorry for him. It was her existence that made him miserable. He knows this and she knows this so she deals with it when he stares at her with a burning hatred in those blue eyes of his. She hates herself, too. If she were to fade from existence, they would both be happy.

 

The room is pitch black. If it were any other Kindred's Haven, she would find this strange but Zato's blindness and Eddie's ability to blend in with any dark area make this the perfect Sanctuary. Although, she honestly thought he had a bit more class than this. Ah well, he was still some petty criminal at the end of the day. No matter how strong his Shadow grows, how much the Beast consumes him, he was still born into nothing, fighting for nothing and loving nothing. Ah you know, she wishes that she could claim he went mad from that Shadow but the truth remains, he is the one that let it inside of him in the first place. The madness may not be his fault but the cruelty was there all along. She forgives him for it, though. He is too weak not to forgive. And she shall demonstrate the ultimate act of kindness in freeing him from this miserable life he leads.

 

She walks into the main room, a gust of wind closing the door with a loud bang that he probably heard. How lovely. Now he knows someone's in here and Eddie's probably already looking around. Unless of course, Zato has the recording headphones on. Once again, a best case scenario that she was all but sure would not happen.

 

Her footsteps resonate throughout the building, the nature shape of it amplifying it and the hardwood floors do not help any. She walks slowly but surely towards the staircase, he is at the top, he always is, it is the sheer drama of it that keeps him there and he knows it is stupid but he does it anyway because he is a moron. He is such a moron that she loves him to the best of her abilities and that has made her weak. But she is strong enough to climb the stairs so she climbs the stairs, her footsteps banging as her hair preemptively prepares it's attacks for it knows Eddie too well.

 

The top step is slippery but her boots have a good grip so while she does not fall, she makes a loud banging nose as she grabs tightly onto the loose bannister. With an angry hiss, she slowly creaks towards the only room with a light in it. The neon green fills the place, giving her a false sense of urgency and fear. She shakes the idea free from her mind and continues on her path, she shall not be swayed by anything or anyone. Even if that Original Man comes forth to destroy her, she shall not surrender unto him. She has taken her life within her own hands yet again.

 

So gathering her mental reserves, she takes a step into the room. The silhouette of a lonely man whom has given himself up to the shadows sits upright in his seat, staring towards that green light.

 

“Millia.” He sounds so wistful she almost wants to touch him.

 

“Zato.” She replies, acknowledging him but not his will for he is not her hero and he won't be again.

 

“Why have you come here?”

 

As if he doesn't know.

 

“I came to finish the job.” She mumbles, her lips barely moving. “For both our sake's.”

 

He shifts in his seat.

 

“Have you?” His voice is soothing and gentle, just like it used to be, but she knows what lingers just out of sight.

 

“Yes.” She replies not for him but for herself to further imbue her soul with resolution.

 

He stands up and turns towards her, the gold of his blindfold sparkling in the light.

 

“And did you think that I would just let you, Millia?” He seems so sad, so like a child.

 

“No. So, I came prepared.”

 

Her hair lights up ecstatically burning with a golden fire. She knows it won't do much but just the light is enough to weaken Eddie greatly. She smiles at the sight of the Shadow burning up. He hates the light so.

 

“I see. But you are a bit too late.” He remarks, his voice returning to that monochrome she has grown so weary of. “Venom is already on his way here. In fact, I believe he's coming right now.”

 

Sure enough, the sound of footsteps approach although it seems only Millia notices that there is a sound of sandals clicking behind boots and elsewhere, the sound of dress shoes clacking in the distance.

 

Unfortunately, it seems that Zato neither hears nor cares as he has taken the opportunity to strike her dead on. The drill erupts from the ground and it is only by the skill of Angra that it misses her.

 

She snarls and turns to face him, the light still blaring down on him so that he may not hide from her.

 

“If you want a fight Zato, you've got one!” She hisses.

 

She flips her hair back around and wraps a few tendrils tightly against her body, the strands lovingly making a home for themselves between her thighs and over her breasts. The main portion however, remains pointed and sharp, aiming towards the mass of shadows that Zato is attempting to morph into. She hopes that the light will do them some damage and attacks. Sadly, the shadows simply reform elsewhere, giggling at the weakness of that attack. She should have known better, Lust Shaker is only really good for enemies you've trapped in the corner. This time, she'll use Tandem Top instead.

 

“WEAK, WEAK! YOUR MORTAL BODY IS TOO WEAK!” A voice much similar to Zato's own cries out, the anger and the hatred is so much different from his, however. It is too carnal for a man like him. Zato has always been emotionally numb. “IT'S WORTHLESS!”

 

Well, it is clear that she has said goodbye to Zato and hello to Eddie. She takes her hair and spins it around her body. It's a strange attack. It focuses on using energy rather than on using her hair so she isn't quite sure what to do with it. Still, it effectively binds the main body which hangs limply against it, degrading with every hit of the circle. She prepares another Lust Shaker to strike at Eddie but is cut off by a white sphere cutting into the darkness as if it were nothing but fog.

 

“Millia!” A too familiar voice cries out.

 

And from behind that, a firecracker blasts out, bathing the entire room in fire and singeing the shadows. Thankfully, her hair is alright. She stops her attack, allowing Zato's form to slump against the ground, and turns to face the new attackers.

 

Venom is definitely there, standing with his pool cue in one hand and a ball in the other, his hand gently embracing it as if it were a sacred treasure. The woman behind him is new, however. She is really very small, can't be taller than five foot four, and her neon pink hair is tied back in a high ponytail, even so it reaches her waist. Millia's almost jealous of how nice it looks without Magics attached. But at the sight of her eye and the wrinkles creasing the woman's face, she realizes that this lovely hair must have come with a cost of it's own. The woman is missing an eye and an arm and in the place of the latter is a claw, dangling at her side. Perhaps she was the one that let off the firecracker?

 

“Eastern or Western?” The woman asks, her voice very deep and aged by cigarettes. Must be a chain smoker.

 

“Western. Lasombra and Toreador.” Venom replies.

 

Millia smirks and steps away from the two, back towards the Shadows. She'd rather fight Eddie than that woman. At least he doesn't use fire.

 

“Looks like your stray's found a new Master, Zato.” She can not help but gloat.

 

She's surprised when Venom doesn't react at all. Usually that would be the sort of thing to push him into a violent rage. His dedication towards Zato was the one thing no one was allowed to question. She wonders what has changed.

 

The woman spits towards her.

 

“Bastard.” She remarks with a bitterness behind her voice that Millia is sure she could never replicate, even if she aged like this woman.

 

The woman throws a cloth wrapped sort up in the air, allowing the cloth to break free and draws her sword.

 

“I want this one, you take your boyfriend.” She remarks, holding the blade in her remaining hand as her aura burns up with what must be the crimson spirit known as 'resolution'.

 

“Yes Baiken.” Venom replies, taking off running.

 

Zato, or rather Eddie, follows. He is probably going to try and convince the boy that he doesn't want to do whatever he is planning on doing. And it will not work.

 

The woman, she must be Baiken, starts circling her, her claw drapes against the ground, scraping at the wood. Millia considers the situation. On one hand, this woman did look experienced but on the other, she looks to be Japanese, judging by the katana and the kimono, and most likely has spent her life dealing with Gaki which is why she brought metal weapons instead of wooden ones. Venom has the wood, his pool cue could easily double as a stake, she realizes. And this woman has that firecracker. If her hair gets hit with it, it will hurt. She'll have to be careful around her.

 

The first attack rings out and Millia just barely blocks. The woman is making up for her short stature by heading off an aerial attack. The slash is surprisingly strong for a woman with only one arm and if her hair was any weaker, it would have cut it right off.

 

“Bastard!” The woman screams, dropping down.

 

Maybe she doesn't know the effect fire has on Kindred? Or maybe... she's trying to stall for some reason? Because in her position, Millia would have used the firecracker by now.

 

Instead, the woman runs towards her, screaming in fury, with the blade aiming for her stomach. Millia blocks again, she wants to know what this woman's game is before killing her, this time from the middle. So she's caught off guard when the woman knocks her to the ground by striking at her exposed leg with her claw. Millia tries to get back up, using her hair as a prop as she uses the remaining pieces of it to block the next sword swipe. She gets back up and sets herself up for another hit only for the woman to start running the opposite direction. Millia chases after her despite her understanding that this is most likely a trap.

 

The woman's sandals click against the wood and up another set of stairs. The sound is distinctive so the other woman has no trouble following her. And Millia is just as fast, if not faster, than her but even so, Baiken makes it to the top first and doesn't hesitate to kick the blonde back down.

 

“You're terrible.” The woman remarks, continuing towards whenever it is she is going. Actually... Millia thinks she might be going up to the rough. Not sure why though. With Winger, Millia can fly but this woman probably can't.

 

Cracking her broken neck back into place, she has had worse, Millia continues her ascent. This time, she'll be prepared for the force of the kick. She didn't think a woman that size could but much force into it but she was wrong. She also didn't think that a woman would have the audacity to wear such underwear and still attack like that but hey, here she is.

 

And as she reaches the top step she hears the sound of sandals above her. Definitely on the roof. She can also hear Venom clacking about downstairs, the sound of his balls swishing through the air is really quite memorable. It would take decades before she'd forget such a sound.

 

Drawing her out of her observation is the sound of sandals slamming against the roof, a taunt perhaps? Well, whatever. She's coming up anyway, just to see what will happen. So she gathers her hair into one attack and swings upwards at the ceiling, allowing it to come crashing at her feet. With a smile, she uses her hair to climb up onto the roof.

 

The woman is standing directly across from her, chewing on some kind weed.

 

“Gimme a sec.” She mutters, spitting it out onto the ground along with what appears to be some chewing tobacco. Gross.

 

The woman draws her sword again, the blade of it sparkling in the moon. She places it in front of herself, blocking any attacks Millia may attempt unless they come from behind.

 

“Okay. Yeah, we're cool.” The woman smiles, her remaining eye lighting up with passion.

 

Millia almost doesn't want to kill her just because of the youth she shows in that eye but the Beast compels her. It's been a while since they have feed anyway.

 

She rushes towards the woman, her hair forming itself into a sword only to be yanked back by the collar by a firm hand.

 

“May I request a trade of opponents?” Venom asks, slamming the pool cue into her side.

 

“Fine by me.” The woman smirks, running off behind them with her sword firmly in her hand and some kind of mace hanging by her side.

 

Venom drops Millia's body, still reeling from the strike (the pain from his weapon was always excruciating. He must have had it blessed at some point. Though, she didn't think he believed in any sort of God. Ha, maybe he had Zato bless it.) she barely manages to stand up.

 

The man manifests a few more balls from his stock of them and floats them in the air, directing them towards her face. He always goes for the face.

 

Millia jumps back ever so slightly and just barely lands on the ledge. She wobbles off of it but manages to pull herself back over, bracing herself with a few tendrils. Venom doesn't appear to be trying to knock her off. Could it perhaps be that instead of trying to kill her, they were trying to hold her off for something? It had to be something revolving around Zato. She knows Venom wouldn't strike against him unless his life was dangling in the balance.

 

“If you would stop attacking for a moment, I would like to explain what's going on.” Venom mentions, dodging the strands of hair effortlessly.

 

Millia sighs and uses her hair to walk her off the ledge. She lowers the tendrils with a frown.

 

“I came here to assist Master Zato in defeating you and in dealing with his incoming death however, it has come to my attention that there are bigger issues than you or I. So I tagged Baiken out to tell you tha--”

 

Venom is cut off by his own scream. One of Zato's Shadows has lifted him by the leg and thrown him back over towards the pink haired woman. She's laying still but Millia can see her breathing out of the corner of her eye. A relief, she wants to see what else this woman is made of.

 

“Now, where were we, Millia?” He asks, walking towards her with more menace than even The Elders of their Guild.

 

He wants to kill her himself. She knows this well. In his delusion, he probably thinks this is the only way they can be together. She prepares her hair for another attack, hoping that this time she can kill him now that the light of the moon is here to weaken that body of his. He runs towards her, that Shadow of his giggling the entire time, drawing his hand back for a punch and she takes a step back, hanging off the edge once more. She closes her eyes, not wanting to watch.

 

She opens them soon afterwards however when she realizes the attack has not connected. A man stands above Zato, grinning to himself. He turns to Millia with a smile.

 

“Hello my dear.” He remarks.

 

She should have listened to Venom.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drama, at last, what I am made of! Set up for the Assassins plot later on so there was not as much drama as I had hoped for. I will go back on the things I set up here later.


	17. Black Soul

Black Soul

 

_Her sadness, her loneliness and her cold gaze, he carries them with him._

 

_Her lips softly, softly pressing against his chest. Her delicate fingers softly, softly tracing against his lips. The taste of that eternal virgin blood that had dripped so softly, oh so very softly, through the hole in her throat (and the hole between the two of them); seasoned and intoxicated with her suffering. The life they had spent together flashed before his eyes. The fear of death and the mortal world slipping in through that bloodied wound in her neck, the taste embittering all that was once sweet and souring what was once bitter. But he loved her too much and too cruelly to allow her to slip away from him so easily. So he cut her off right before she could fall into a pleasant dream._

 

_The blood spilt down from his lips and onto the back of his hand. The flavour and the feeling, he found them quite similar to the taste and texture of wine. And what was blood to a Kindred other than wine? What was it to him? He spilt both so freely that he could hardly tell the difference any more. Out of the corner of his mind, he weakly wondered if this was what she truly was to him, an expensive, one of a kind wine which he was soon going to run out of. The idea was frightening in the most lonely sort of ways._

 

_She muttered out into the night again, her voice both comforting and miserable to him as she expressed once again her most sincere desire to fade from this world. Pretending not to notice, he bit into her exposed thigh, not even flinching as blood splattered against his cheek, the sensation sending him reeling into otherworldly pleasures that surely a merciful God had found fit to grant him. He who had never believed in concepts like 'faith' or 'hope' suddenly found those things inside of her. Faith, hope, love and the distant voice of the Beast._

 

_From the bottom of his heart he began to speak out whatever words came to mind, radiating in her glory and in the desire of the Beast. He slid his tongue into her mouth, wanting her to taste what he had tasted and to experience what he had but the sounds of disgust were too much to bare. But he sought to bring her pleasure regardless and enjoyed the taste of her blood once more. Her thighs were always so welcoming. Her blood came out so freely, so very freely._

 

_He motioned with his free hand across the room with a smile as he drank in that wine. He resigned himself to allow someone else to Change her for he knew that the Shadow would destroy her and her beauty if it touched her. So he settled and allowed the most beautiful of Kindred to make this body of hers, ruined by his own touch, eternal in it's glory. To his hands, in beauty and in rapture (he recalled that his turning was pleasant and assumed she felt the same), her body greeting the night, she died. Twelve hours later, greeting the afternoon sun, she woke up and the sun burnt every part of her it touched._

 

_He smiled beside her, gently, gently as what was left of his soul was consumed by blackness._

 

-*-

 

He slams against the on button, the anger at his lack of control regarding the situation making itself known, filling the room with light. He has no intent on further recording but without the light, Millia would be stuck in total darkness and there is no way he can expect her to perform in that. While her eyes have no doubt been trained through years of assassination gigs, she was still one of the privileged many allowed to see and so, she was not as adept at 'seeing' in the dark as himself.

 

He laughs bitterly to himself. The room might be illuminated already, it is not like he has any real idea. Without Eddie's help, he's blind and, in his own opinion, helpless, like a newborn rat. That's why he lets the Beast have as much control as it does, because it is Vital to him. Without Eddie, Zato would still be in the dark. Both metaphorically and literally.

 

The Beast helped him see much clearer (ironically enough), it allowed him to better understand his own desires and those of the people around him. And frankly, they disgust him. Almost every person he speaks to wants something viciously carnal or melodramatically emotional. For example, from the second he first spoke to that boy, he was intensely aware of the child's desire to love and be loved in return; and he could not help himself but take advantage of that desire. It was purely political. At least, that is what he reminds himself of whenever Eddie whispers in his ear regarding that little scenario about five years ago. Zato wishes so brutally to forget all about it but the memory has latched onto his skin tighter than Eddie ever could, draining his breath with every replayed word and retraced sensation.

 

And then there's Millia... Her desires remain a mystery to him, even now. Perhaps Angra was blocking him from entering her thoughts. Surely that must be it. It can not be any moral succeedings from that woman. If she was moral than she would not have sat in that corner and burnt his heart up, as if his love for her meant nothing. With that act, she had mortally wounded him but with his determination, he avoided death's cruel grip. He wanted, wants, to fight her to best of his abilities, to forever mark her skin and her mind with the memory of his most sincere feelings for her.

 

It's during times like this where Zato feels particularly sorry for Venom's sorry state. He, himself, feels a great many deal of feelings (he can not quite place them) regarding his Master and seeks the man's approval. The difference is, Slayer never played with Zato's feelings. But each man has their vice and Zato's was surely his tendency to manipulate people like puppets, somewhat unintentionally in the boy's case. He would have done it to a lesser man, yes, but the boy had, has, always been loyal. He fought in Zato's name as a child before he truly understand the feelings he harboured for his Master and he fights for them just as well now; despite Millia's claims that he is as disloyal as those Sabbat brats he picked up from A-Country. She's wrong about that, for once, she is wrong about the boy. The Sabbat's Freaks are worthless, sniveling cowards and sadistic maniacs that care for nothing more than their carnal desires. Venom is selfless to the point of matyrdom, just and yet sheds blood merely because it is his duty. If the boy had just a bit more power, or had responded better to Vitae, perhaps Zato could have actually considered him more than a particularly good Hunting Dog. But he is too weak, too emotional, too eager to please. It is so very sad.

 

It seems that all three of them are equally pathetic. It's almost laughable. A trio of lost dogs being strangled and slowly pulled into the Darkness by the red string of fate. Which he is sure none of them had asked for. Ha, it almost sounds like the plot of a novel. A grand love story about how a peasant boy feel in love with a Prince of Shadow who in turn loved a Great Empress. He needs to hurry up and write that before time runs out. It would be nice to give one last grand gesture of love to Millia. Perhaps he may redeem himself in her eyes.

 

Another laugh. No, what has done can not be undone. He sealed the fate of their love that night when he refused to allow her to fall into that pleasant dream and instead, forced her to not live but rather, to exist. He drove the stake into his own heart and the knife into their relationship, plucking the rose before it was allowed to wither. And he thinks that's what makes him the angriest.

 

Eddie returns from his 'walk', sliding up beside Zato.

 

“SHE'S COMING.” He states, speaking right into Zato's own mind. “I SAW HER, OUTSIDE, WALKING ON THE SIDEWALK. SHE OUGHT TO BE HERE BY NOW.”

 

“I see.” Zato sighs, taking a deep breath and gathering his mental reserves. “And what will you do about her?”

 

The Beast smiles inside of the black expanse of his mind, a row of glistening shark teeth lining the inside of it's 'mouth'.

 

“SINCE WHEN HAVE YOU ASKED ME FOR MY ADVICE, ZATO? ARE YOU GOING SOFT OR ARE YOU MOCKING ME?” It's voice is taunting, haunting and resonates throughout all corners of his mind, reminding Zato how he will never be free of this Darkness that has overtaken him.

 

“I asked you a question.” Dodging the question, the standard for Zato these days.

 

“YES, YES. WELL, WE KILL HER OF COURSE. IT WILL SAVE US TIME AND VENOM WILL RESPECT US AGAIN. HE IS MORE USEFUL NOW, YES?” The Shadow asks, the grin still worming it's way inside the assassin's mind.

 

“You are biased.” Zato states plainly, turning to face where he thinks the Shadows' main body may be. “You have made it obvious ever since we picked up that boy that you prefer him to Millia and that is why you have been deliberately sabotaging our relationship.”

 

The Shadow's smile turns (literally) upside-down and it's eyes grow much larger, dominating Zato's mental landscape.

 

“SUCH BASELESS ACCUSATIONS.” Zato instinctively grimaces. “I MERELY FIND THE BOY TO BE THE MORE USEFUL COMPANION AND IF USING HIM TO HIS FULLEST MEANS GETTING RID OF THAT WOMAN, SO BE IT.”

 

“It's more than just that. If it were just that, you would have told me this when we first got him. Not when he... developed.” His nose wrinkles up in distaste at the last word. Conversations like this with Eddie always left such a bad taste in his mouth.

 

“CHILDREN ARE WORTHLESS. I HAD TO WAIT UNTIL HE, HOW WOULD YOU SAY IT, BLOSSOMED, BEFORE I COULD CONSIDER HIS TRUE POTENTIAL. WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO IMPLY, ZATO?”

 

He holds his face still, to show emotion at this point would be to lose the discussion he feels. It would convince Eddie that he is right.

 

“You are a Beast made of Shadows and Desire, correct? Well, I never got confirmation on what kinds of desires you exactly embody. For all I know, you could be the manifestation of repressed sexual desire.” He almost smirks with the last sentence. Almost.

 

“YOU DISGUST ME ZATO.” The Shadow mutters, turning it's face into a mirror of Zato's own, distorting his pale lips into a sneer. Zato can not be sure if that is what he truly looks like but he recalls being a more colourful version before he lost his eyesight so he can only assume it is the truth. “BUT AMUSE ME ALL THE SAME.”

 

It's face swaps back to the grinning, toothy shadow.

 

“YOU INSULT YOURSELF MORE THAN YOU INSULT ME. I AM YOUR BEAST. I AM YOUR PAIN, YOUR PASSION, YOUR DESIRES. TO SAY I DESIRE YOUR SERVANT IN SUCH A WAY SAYS THAT YOU DESIRE HIM IN THE SAME WAY. PERHAPS YOU ARE REPRESSING MORE THAN YOUR LIBIDO, HMN?”

 

Zato's lip twitches ever so slightly.

 

“I don't have time for this. She must be inside the building by now.”

 

Judging by the banging sound in the distance, she's already made it up the stairs.

 

“FINE, FINE. I WILL DEAL WITH HER. BUT WE CONTINUE THIS CONVERSATION LATER. YOU HAVE ISSUES REGARDING THE BOY THAT WE MUST WORK OUT BEFORE WE CAN TAKE ADVANTAGE OF HIM.”

 

Zato straightens out his back and folds his hands over one another, gracefully awaiting the arrival of his beloved Millia.

 

“SHE'S HERE.” The Shadow declares, whispering inside of his mind.

 

Since they first 'met', Eddie has made a habit of telling Zato about people's arrivals in advance so that he may surprise his guests by speaking their name without 'looking' at them. He does the same to Millia.

 

“Millia.” He whimpers, Eddie says he whimpered it, his voice taking on a far too wistful characteristic for either his or Eddie's liking.

 

The smell of lilies drifting gently over the dust and rubble of this ruined Haven make him feel nostalgic. He wonders if perhaps, in another life, they could have been happy together.

 

“Zato.” Her voice is so cold, she acknowledges him but that is all. Her voice shows no familiarity, no kindness, no joy. It is as if she was greeting not her lover, not an old friend, but an enemy who she has grown weary of.

 

“Why have you come here?”

 

As if he doesn't know.

 

“I came here to finish the job.” Though she mutters it, it comes out precisely and cleanly, a tone much like a wineglass. “For both our sake's.”

 

He shifts in his seat, biting back the sorrow that has built up inside of him without permission.

 

“Have you?” That sorrow taints his voice, returning it to what it once was but the Beast still hides behind the surface, ready to snap her up should Zato fall.

 

So he he will not fall. If only so that Millia may die by the hand of the man she loves.

 

“Yes.” She replies.

 

He stands up and turns to where Eddie's Shadows direct.

 

“And did you think that I would just let you, Millia?” He whispers her name out as if it were a curse or a precious secret of which he was forbidden to share.  
  


She means so much to him and yet, she thinks she means nothing. Truly dramatic irony.

 

“No, so I came prepared.”

 

Before he can reply to her comment, before he can reassure her of his love, he feels the Shadow wrapped around his body, burning up, fire streaking across it's body and his skin. Some sort of bright light must have been involved, he deduces. But the sound of a boot clicking against the ground gives a convenient out. Perhaps Venom's disobedience is not as unfortunate of a thing as he first thought.

 

“I see.” He remarks, cautiously returning his voice to that dead tone that he adores so. It is just so natural to be emotionless. To have feelings, that is abnormal for him. “But you are a bit too late. Venom is already on his way here. In fact, I believe he is coming right now.”

 

He allows her to feel fear at the sound of footsteps in the distance before beginning his attack.

 

“I RECOMMEND YOU 'INVITE HELL'.” The Beast smiles.

 

Zato complies and raises his arm directly upwards, taking pleasure in the small scream Millia emits when the drill strikes at her feet.

 

“HER HAIR'S GLOWING. AVOID IT.” Eddie narrates, separating itself from Zato and clinging to the roof as to hide from the apparent light.

 

“If you want a fight Zato, you've got one!” She hisses.

 

Zato shrugs her off and tries to summon another drill only for his body to suddenly freeze up.

 

“Eddie, I'm stuck.” He mentions through their shared connection.

 

“I KNOW. I DID IT ON PURPOSE.” The Shadow replies, dodging out of the way of what must be a Lust Shaker, judging by the images it is sending.

 

“What?”

 

“I THOUGHT YOU WOULD GET IN THE WAY.” The Shadow replies nonchalantly.

 

Zato tries to speak again but a sudden tightness against his chest stops him. The burning coldness of the circle binds his chest, surely cracking a rib, and light the shadows covering his chest on fire, harming both himself and Eddie. This attack of hers, Tandem Top he believes, it was always so strange. He never sees it coming just because of how different it is from most of her attacks. It was purely Magic based, he is certain of it. It must be that Toreador blood of hers. It is so beautiful. Everything about her is so beautiful.

 

He tries to struggle against the circular, praying that his attempt is not in vain, but his body rebels once more and hangs limply against it, much like a corpse. Anyone walking into the room would surely think that he had already died by her hand. To think that if Venom was not on his way, he might go swiftly into this night, taken out by his own Shadows' folly and his weak body. Pathetic.

 

But here comes his saviour; a pool ball whistles into range, striking something in the distance. Millia's head snaps around, breaking her focus and allowing the body to slump to the ground as if it were a rag doll. The best case scenario it seems. Although, it is unlike Eddie to hinder itself in such a manner. He knows full well that the Beast finds him Vital and it would never risk itself by harming him. Perhaps his heart was degrading them both, making them weak, like mortals again. Food for their thoughts.

 

“Millia!” Venom's deep yet, so very gentle, voice cries out.

 

The sound of a firecracker exploding follows the sound, bathing the entire room in a powerful heat and burning Eddie right up. The Beast's voice groans out inside his head in pain, cursing out Venom's name as it creeps back towards Zato's curled up form.

 

Venom's natural musky scent drifts down towards him, making it apparent that the boy is already in the room. But, a strange scent that Venom would never smell like is next to him and the sound of the body shifting to and fro is quite loud; much louder than Venom. This person smells of cigarette smoke and some kind of cheap liquor. It must be a very Blue Collar person that Venom has aligned himself with. How pathetic. He really expected better from his Hunting Dog. But still, the person seems rather competent as the smell of gunpowder, flame and sharpened steel lingers around them. They must have let off the firecracker. How strange that they knew enough about Shadows to understand that was the best weapon to use. Judging by that, this Blue Collar Hunter must be a very experienced one indeed. Thirty years experience? Forty? Or perhaps they just lived in a city like Barcelona. A place with a lot of Sabbat around trains even the most weak and delicate child to the best of their abilities. He should know. He grew up there.

 

“Eastern or Western?” Well, the person is definitely a woman; albeit, a very crude one. Her voice is deep and aged artificially by chain smoking and heavy drinking. She might be drunk right now by the sounds of the slight slur in her voice. No not drunk, 'tipsy'. Sober enough to fight but drunk enough for the pain to be weakened.

 

“Western. Lasombra and Toreador.” Punctual as usual, Venom gets right to the point, his voice betraying no obvious emotions and surely, his features don't either.

 

Millia's soft soles thud gently against the ground as she takes a step towards Eddie, brushing her foot against one of his tendrils.

 

“Look's like your stray's found a new Master, Zato.”She gloats, mocking them both.

 

He expects Venom to leap on her right away but is surprised when his female companion does instead.

 

“Bastard.” The woman spits, throwing _something_ into the air and catching it with, presumably, her hand. “I want this one, you take your boyfriend.”

 

Zato stands up on shaking legs, deciding not to dwell on the weakness that has suddenly overtaken him. There is no time for this, not when Venom is challenging him to such a degree.

 

The boy takes off running, as if Hell were at his heels and Zato follows. While it is most likely a trap, he does not particularly care. He is not going to fight. He is going to try and convince Venom not to do whatever it is the boy must be planning on doing. After all, he would not come here unless he desired something and he was in no fit state to desire anything practical.

 

It is unfortunate that he trained Venom so well as the boy's footsteps are almost silent. It takes quite a bit of hearing just to pick up on his soft footfalls in the distance but judging by the direction Eddie claims he is running in, he is searching for a more suitable room to fight in.

 

“Master Zato.” Venom's voice calls out but from where, the man can not be sure. It seems to ring out throughout the entire place due to the acoustics of the building. It was used for recording as well as music playing, after all.

 

“Yes?” He replies, holding onto the hope that he may lure Venom out with his voice or at the very least, convince him to behave.

 

“I have not come for the reasons you think I have. I have come bringing very important news.” The boy explains, his footsteps ringing out again.

 

Zato melts his body, making it small and pliable, and slithers towards the sound, attempting to catch Venom off guard. But that Eye of the boy's is very keen (he should know, he trained that, too) and spots him right away, striking him down with a well placed pool ball. And he doesn't even have his cue out, Zato notes. He's become a strong assassin. Almost as good as Millia.

 

“Well, it appears you won't listen to reason. I suppose I'll just have to fight you then.” Venom remarks, drawing his cue and spinning it around in the air.

 

There is no real practical application for that but Venom picked up the habit during sparring lessons with Zato. He would always strike out too soon and take the first blow because he was so quiet that Zato could not hear him arming himself so he took it upon himself to demonstrate whenever he had equipped the cue. It seems that the habit has firmly embedded itself in Venom's routine now which was good for Zato but very unfortunate for the boy himself.

 

Zato strikes back, Inviting Hell right off the bat as he knows Venom is rather weak in his blocking capabilities – there is only so much a piece of wood can do, you see. But the boy's shoes skid across from where the drill struck and his hands slam against what must be metal. He must have disappeared up into the ceiling. He's too good at dodging. He should never have let Slayer teach the boy how. An assassin has no need for sidesteps or 'parkour'. If Venom would use blades in that cue of his, there would be no need for this. But his love of blunt force weapons, or perhaps his dislike of the intimacy of blades, ends up creating this complicated killing style that is impractical for anyone but Venom himself.

 

“You missed.” Venom remarks, his voice deader than usual. Perhaps he has finally gotten over him? No, he could never. Zato is sure.

 

“Only because you got lucky.” Zato replies, pinpointing the sound of the voice and sending another attack towards it.

 

Eddie's razor sharp wings miss unfortunately (he'll have to talk to Eddie about his aim with those) and instead cut through the roof. The sound of palms scraping against metal (even through gloves) is always unmistakable, however, and he easily follows Venom up there. The boy's Eye is staring off into something in the distance.

 

“Master, wait!” Venom exclaims.

 

Zato, or rather the Beast within him, has no time for pleasantries and instead creates a claw with it's hand and rushes towards Venom with the intent to tear him apart. The boy barely ducks it and through Eddie's eyes (merged with his own in this form) a look of shock crosses over his face in the brief seconds in which it is visible. He obviously had not thought that his Master would strike against him so brutally. He was wrong.

 

“WE WON'T SPEAK TO YOU, DOG!” Eddie cries out but the hatred in his voice is Zato's own.

 

Venom ducks a second punch that Zato doesn't even notice he threw and slides out from the corner, running towards his comrade. She's rather short, Zato notes, as he deforms from Eddie, losing the benefit of eyesight. He shakes the Beast from himself and focuses. If it takes over completely, he will lose his ability to strategize and use his more complicated Magics. But the time spent on that is time wasted when the woman rushes towards him, her blade cutting through the air.

 

“Come here you bastard!” She shrieks, swinging wildly at him with the smell of bloodlust hanging off of her. “I'll rip you apart!”

 

He is forced to block her swipe with his bare hand, the holy blade slicing against his skin and filling his body with the burning of a thousand suns. It feels as if hot needles are ripping the flesh off of his arm.

 

The experience is awful yet very thought invoking. He's wasting time with all of this kindness, he should just allow that Beast to take over. He allows the Beast to do what it likes, watching passively as it prepares to devour the woman and consume that crimson inside of her. But the sight of Millia hanging off that cliff, assaulted by that violent, worthless child is too much to bare, so he discards her like a useless tissue and runs towards the sight. Taking one of his tendrils, he yanks the pathetic child back, throwing him towards the other meal.

 

“Now, where were we Millia?” Zato smiles, walking towards the woman with his arms open, awaiting her tocuh once again.

 

He doesn't want her to be frightened. He just wants her to die with him. And the funny thing is, Zato isn't sure if that's the Beast's thoughts or his own. Does it really matter? In the end, the result is the same. The two of them, together. Blissful and most importantly, alone. Without that brat desperately clinging onto his ankles – begging for love and for his touch – , or that sweet eating Master that never recognized his grand achievements, or even that worthless Guild he only took over because he thought it'd impress her. He drinks in the Shadows, his eye widening in ecstasy behind that blindfold, and rushes towards her, forming his right hand into a claw so that he may knock her down and himself with her.

 

Then a fist connects with their face, knocking the Beast right out of his mind as he breathes in the awe-inspiring scent of the Elder.

 

“Hello my dear.” He remarks.

 

He should have listened to Venom.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Zato but I hate him. He's such an asshole but his character is divine, LOL. And yes, the argument with Eddie does almost literally boil down to "You're gay for Venom." "No you're gay for Venom." Unrelated, poor Millia. She deserves better.


	18. Dear Me

Dear Me

 

_He woke up in a cold sweat yesterday night. He jolted awake in bed, screaming out that woman's name, once again weakly crying out for the times long since past. His head found it's way into his hands and without concern or care, he cried into them._

 

_It's always the happy dreams that hurt the most. The ones where she's beside him once more, speaking down to him as if he were ranks below rather than her superior. The ones where she rises from the grave, asking why he didn't save her, they could not compare. He knew they were not real, that she would never say such things – despite them being true – but those happy dreams, they were what certainly could have been and that is why they cut so deeply into him. If she had hated him, if his feelings for her had gone unrequited, then surely these dreams would not sting so. It was the possibility that they were true that killed him._

 

_He climbed out of bed and made his way towards the kitchen, not sure if he sought a wine or a knife and not caring if he took fancy to both. The cold tile against his bare feet reminded him that he was still human, that she still wasn't and bitterly reminds him that they never would have lasted anyway. But still, he clings onto the last few traces of her memory. The sound of her voice, the callous wounds on her finger and the colour of her lips, he carries them with him, keeping them to remind him what exactly he was fighting for. So no one else on this planet will have to lose a soul mate, so no one else will have to abandon their lives to fight, so that there will never be another war, that is what he fights for, kills for. And he knows that sometimes what he does is unethical, sinful almost, but it can not be helped. In order to keep her hope within him, he has to do these things._

 

_He grabs a bottle of wine off the table. Even if he gets sloppy drunk off of it, he is sure that it will pass by the mourn. So he pulls the cork out with his teeth – detrimental to them, he's sure – and spits it out on the ground, allowing the smell of spiced wine to permeate the room. With a bitter laugh, tears crawling out from his eyes, he drank in that wine, waiting until the pleasant memories fade into intoxication._

 

-*-

 

Ky is having hot flashes from the anger already. If he had known that these three (Sol, Testament and the dog) were such unpleasant driving companions, he would have given them their own car and gone to see The Midnight Carnival on his own. But no, he did not ask what they thought of road trips, just smushed them in a car and now he has to deal with the consequences of his actions.

 

“When are we getting there?” Testament whines for what must be the twelfth time.

 

“We'll get there when we get there!” Is what Ky _wanted_ to say but he could not risk angering his divine allies. So instead he said “Well, we have not left the city yet so about eight to ten hours depending on traffic.”

 

He must have said it with a twitch or something because Sol makes a big deal about it.

 

“Oi, kid, don't get your panties in a twist. She's just being a woman.” And you're being an asshole but Ky hasn't killed you yet but by God, he really wishes he could.

 

And the dog's barking at something in the background. Mother Mary, does he, or she Ky supposes, not know how stressful driving is? Do any of them? Oh God, do they even have driver's licenses?!

 

“Sol, would you please be quiet; this is a busy turn off.” Ky replies, straining his smile in the same manner he did back with Johnny.

 

Sol snorts and turns out the window.

 

“I'm bored, though.” He remarks with a smile and a sneer on his face and in his voice.

 

“Then talk to Testament.” The Officer replies without missing a beat.

 

Sol leans in to a degree that would be awkwardly close for a normal situation but in a car, it's just ridiculous. A huge man like that, towering over the lithe and delicate Major Ky Kiske in a tiny European car, just ridiculous. Ky barely stifles his giggling.

 

“But I don't like him as much as I like you.” The man grins, as utterly flirtatious as a Changeling. Hmf, some Divine Messenger.

 

“A shame. Truly.” Now, Ky isn't sure where he got such a sense of humour from but whoever suddenly blessed it to him, they're in his prayers.

 

Sol pulls away and adjusts his seat, pulling himself far enough away from the dashboard that he can kick his feet up on it.

 

“What, what are you doing?” Ky asks, squinting his eyes as he's not quite sure of the purpose of this.

 

“Relaxing.” Sol responds, folding his arms behind his head and resting on them as if he was about to take a nap.

 

Oh God, Ky hopes he takes a nap. One less asshole to deal with right now.

 

“Oh. Right. My apologies.” He won't press the issue any further.

 

“I'm going to sleep now. Wake me up when you see a hooker.” He'll press the issue further.

 

“Don't refer to them in such a manner! We have no idea if they are legitimately prostitutes or not but even so, you should not refer to them in that way! Hooker is a filthy term!” Ky snaps, swerving out of the way of some car barreling down the road with no concern for anyone.

 

Sol snickers.  
  


“You're one of those guys that goes to people like that looking for 'companionship', aren't you? Whatever. To each their own. You wanna get therapy from hookers? Not any of my business.” If this man was not Divine, Ky would wipe the grin right off that ugly face of his.

 

“I would never go to a prostitute! I already have someone I love very much!” He declares.

 

Testament groans from the backseat.

 

“Now you've done it! You've give him ammunition! Sol, leave him alone, we don't have time for this!” The woman pleads.

 

But too little, too late. Sol's already started smiling.

 

“You've got a girlfriend then? Or a boyfriend? How would they feel about you seeing a trio of hookers? Bet you they'll be jealous.” It seems this man has suddenly regressed back to childhood. How disgusting.

 

“She was more than my girlfriend; we were supposed to get married, you know!” He snaps towards Sol, angry at the fact that someone had brought her up again.

 

“Was? She break up with you or something?” He has no idea regarding the ramifications of what he just said.

 

“She died.” Ky replies, colder than usual.

 

And a silence fills the car, even Sol himself looks shocked at what Ky just said. His face running a gamut of emotions in the span of the minute it takes anyone to even start breathing again.

 

“What happened?” Testament asks, obviously the more socially aware of the two and right now, that is a very low bar to cross.

 

Ky takes a deep breath. They were strangers and while he did see a lot of the Crusades inside of Sol, he did not consider them to be close by any means. But sometimes, a stranger provides more support than people you've known for years and Ky doesn't really have any friends or even, co-workers who he can share this story with. Actually, he doesn't have any friends. Not since the Crusades.

 

“She was a lower ranking Officer back in the Crusades, back when I was Captain Ky Kiske. You must have heard about her. She is a celebrated war hero, there are statues of her everywhere.” He doesn't want to go into any more detail than that right now.

 

Sol unfortunately, does look rather puzzled, however.

 

“What did she look like?” He asks, his voice more serious than usual. It's almost alarming.

 

“She looked like well, she looked like you. She was very tall and really muscular so all of the men at base found her intimidating and like me she was a Mage specializing in elemental forces. And her hair, she kept it tied up but when she let it down, it went down to her thighs easily. She only took it down on a few occasions and only because I had asked but it was so nice when it happened. Her eyes where a really dark shade of brown and turned gold in the sunlight, just like her hair actually.” Ky isn't sure if he's being coherent at this point but he misses talking about her. Just describing her, that made him feel so, happy? He thinks he feels happy.

 

“And her name?”

 

“Sol.”

 

Both Testament and Sol stop, their expressions relaying confusion and a bit of distress in Sol's case.

 

“Are you joking?” Sol asks after a while.

 

“No, not at all. If you look her up, you should see pictures of her. This one of her and I and our squad has been going around.” He's trying to keep an upbeat tone but whenever he mentions her, his heart still skips a beat.

 

“Was Sol her real name?” What was this? An interrogation?

 

Ky sighs.

 

“Honestly, I have no idea. I never asked. Nobody knew who she was or where she came from but she was a good soldier so she stayed. She's the one responsible for the Crusades ending at all. If it weren't for her, this world as we know it, wouldn't exist.” The wistful monologue ought to tell Sol to drop it but his social skills probably miss it.

 

“I was just wondering.” Sol remarks, turning to glance at Testament who's looking introspective. “I'm taking a nap now. Don't wake me up.”

 

And with a sigh of relief, Ky continues driving in silence.

 

-*-

 

Three hours later and he's screaming behind him at some college student.

 

“Fine! If you want to play like that bastard, you can crawl behind me at forty miles a goddamned hour!” In hindsight, he probably shouldn't have done that, if only because he didn't want to wake Sol up.

 

But low and behold, the bulky man has awakened and is growling like some kind of monster.

 

“Kid, what the fuck are you yelling about?!” Sol yells.

 

“This college student has been honking at me for miles and he pulls up to me so I ask what was bothering him and he flips me off! I am a Major and he flips me off! So he can crawl behind us at forty an hour because I don't have to take this!” Ky screams back, slowing down yet further.

 

“Right, stop the car. I'll deal with him and then we can get a fucking move on.” Sol snaps.

 

With a sigh, Ky obliges and stops it right in front of the so called college student, allowing Sol to get out of the passenger's seat to do God knows what.

 

From the rearview window, he can see the bulky man rapping against the window of the shoddy vehicle. Ah, some kind of 'emo' teenager with what Ky believes to be a 'Nyan'. A Japanese Changeling that originated when a few two many children grew a tad too fond of cats.

 

“Hey asshole, the fuck were you honking at us for?” Sol snarls down at the boy.

 

The boy has a very distinctive appearance, Ky can swear he's seen him before. He has a shock of spiky white hair, one red eye and one green one and a permanent angry expression. Sort of reminds him of Sol in the whole 'I am better than everyone and rules are for assholes' kind of way.

 

“Cause he was doing sixty in a frigging sixty five zone and I've got some where to be!” The boy snarls.

 

“Ky, what the shit? You know what? I don't care. You're still a fucking asshole kid. You wanna fight, come on and fight me!” Oh God, this is such a mess.

 

Ky prepares to get out of the car only for a child's voice to come drifting through into the car.

 

“Please stop arguing with this man! We really don't have time for this kind of thing!” The young boy complains, his voice being aged by stress.

 

Ky wonders what sort of life he's lead.

 

“Fine. But next time I see you Theocracy bastards, you're frigging dead!” The student spits, rolling his car window back up.

 

Sol crashes into the car, slamming the door behind himself. He seems angry now.

 

“I fucking hate kids.” He mutters before returning to sleep.

 

Ky sighs again. He's been doing a lot of that lately. Stress, probably. Only five or so more hours before they reach Barcelona. It should be night by then. Just about time for the 'nightlife' to come alive. He had hoped he would arrive before sundown so he could take at least one member of The Midnight Carnival on while they were sleeping. In hindsight, they probably wouldn't be open until later at night anyway but it's still annoying. He hopes there won't be any more issues at least.

 

-*-

 

In the usual spirit of things, his hopes were crushed by the breeze of a particularly lazy summer. While they had arrived slightly earlier than he had thought they would, the sun had still gone down and only a few traces of it remain in the sky. At least the trip went relatively well, except for a few cases regarding obnoxious drivers. Aquila was also particularly antsy. Strange, as Ky is used to dogs dozing off during trips but they stayed awake for the duration of the ride, almost as if they were paying attention to something. He doesn't pay it too much attention, however. He's too hungry to bother with it.

 

He parks the car outside a store, glancing at the two still sleeping faces of Sol and Testament. Aquila, as usual, is still wide awake and wags their tail as soon as they see Ky. He glances to see if the store, a relatively small place but on the walls were pictures of warm food so he assumes there's some for a cheap price in there, allows dogs. Nothing immediately says they don't so he shrugs and opens the door to allow Aquila to get out, minding Testament as he doesn't want to wake the poor woman. She seems stressed and the best thing for her right now is to get a good night's rest. He'll wake them up later tonight when he's sure the Carnival will be active. Sunset was a bit too early for them, he's sure.

 

He snaps his fingers and motions for Aquila to follow him. For a criminals' dog, he is quite well trained. Ky's almost shocked at the sheer amount of self control the animal has. He'll buy them some dog treats while in the store to show his appreciation.

 

The automatic doors open with just a bit of slowness about them. But they actually don't have many modern things in Paris, it's become a very traditionalist city, so it's quite refreshing. The florescent lights inside are even more amazing. The last time he saw such bright lights was where he was investigating some Redcaps Gangs in A-Country. But he doesn't want to seem strange so he bites back his childish enjoyment and walks deeper into the store.

 

A number of foods are aligning the shelves, most of them standard fare goods but it looks like there's some pre-made pizza being sold. He figures he'll get some of that. It's a simple food he's tried before and he's sure it's not spicy enough to hurt him. So gathering his mental reserves, he walks towards the display, gesturing to the last currently available slice at the same time as a taller woman dressed all in red.

 

“Excuse me madam but I was here first.” Ky insists with a smile, hoping to calm her.

 

She doesn't take too kindly to it.

 

“Oh dear me, you seem like a gentleman but you won't even let a working woman such as myself have some food, even though she's clearly starving? I mean just look at me, I'm all skin and bones.” She runs her eyes up and down him, her face taking on a predatory expression and the dark red of her lips curling into a leer he didn't think a woman could manage. “And you, you're a fine specimen of human life. Totally healthy, don't you want a salad instead?”

 

Ky shakes his head.

 

“Sorry, but I'm on work too, madam. And I was definitely here first.” He replies.

 

Aquila then starts barking at the woman, getting really close to her. Ky just manages to pull the large dog back, panicking slightly. They never acted like that before, not even to obviously shady strangers, what about this woman set them off?

 

“Oh, and where do you work?” She asks, hardly even phased by the huge dog that was effectively just threatening her.

 

He decides not to tell her he's Theocracy.

 

“I'm an Officer of the Law, could you not tell?” Something of a bluff, if he makes her feel like she's in the wrong, she's more likely to believe him.

 

She puts her hand against her chest and pouts, red lips parting ever so slightly.

 

“A true man of the law would let a little ol' girl like me have some warm food after a hard day's work.” She whines.

 

“And where do you work?” He figures he might humour her a bit.

 

“Oh. The brothel. See something you like?” She asks.

 

Ah, so that's why Aquila was barking. Ky draws his sword, ignoring the panicked cries of the local storekeeper.

 

“Ah shit, you're a Theocracy bitch, aren't you? Oh, dear me.” She remarks with a giggle.

 

By God, he hopes she won't keep this up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually the last chapter I wrote so it's a bit of a rush job. Also, it is fairly lighthearted because The Midnight Carnival chapter is coming up and that is what I indeed to be the turning point in the story. Oh and chronologically, the latter part of this chapter is happening at the same time as Writhe in Pain/Black Soul and Hello My Dear (Similar names you see). Fucked up, I know but I couldn't think of a better way to do it.


	19. Hello My Dear

Hello My Dear

 

_He shouldn't have left that boy alone. He knew in his heart that he had not taken well to the Change but he had thought that the boy would grow stronger, kinder if he was without the prying eyes of Princes for a bit. Instead, he drove his beloved Guild, formed from the desire to change this Earth they lived on and restore it to it's former glory and the love of humanity and all it's creations, into madness and took apart everything that anyone had ever longed for. He made it a hierarchy, a group of thugs, criminals and unrepentant monsters killing out of carnal desires and the promptings of selfish Gods rather out of a sense of duty or a need to make the world better. Only one assassin remained true to those ideals and his mind had even so grown clouded by years of solitude._

 

_Regardless, he does not blame the boy or even, the one that bit into the child's neck and drained both the colour and the joy from his face. He blames himself. If he had paid more attention, if he had listened to the boy more than this would not have happened. But there is naught that can be done about it now. What he has done, can not be undone and with their own hands, they have created their coffins. Now, it's time to sleep in them._

 

-*-

 

“Hello my dear.” He smiles, walking towards Millia with his arms outstreched.

 

He hopes to convey a “I promise I won't punch you to death” sort of feeling but she doesn't seem quite as reassured as he had hoped she would. In fact, she seems just a tad tense. She's using her hair as a shield and he hasn't even gotten ten feet near her. Ah, but it can't be helped. Her ex-boyfriend did just try to murder her so it's not like she's being unreasonable.

 

With a sigh, Slayer takes off his cape and stretches it out to chair size. He pulls his pipe out of his pocket and lights it, a smoke to calm his nerves and to further demonstrate that he, at the moment, means her no harm.

 

“Dandy, what are you doing here?” She asks, having calmed down somewhat he supposes.

 

“I came to get you.” He replies. Well, there's no point beating around the bush.

 

She walks up towards him, her hair hanging by her side, and glares rather intensely into his eyes.

 

“What for?” She asks, presumably after determining he was telling the truth.

 

Well, of course he was. He wouldn't lie to a lady of such virtue. It's not quite his style. Now, lying to Venom or to Zato, more appropriate; but only in very specific circumstances. For example, it is better if Venom has no idea why he rejects Vitae so easily while on the other hand, Zato doesn't need to know of the reasons for his existence, just yet. Millia on yet another hand, deserves nothing but the best. It is because she has suffered so much you see that she has become the ideal representation of the Kindred. And because she is so ideal, lying to her would be a borderline sin. Only a very exceptional situation would make him cross that border.

 

And no, he does not consider himself to be Kindred. He is a vampire, yes but he considers himself to be more than one or rather, the only vampire that is not a Kindred. He thinks about it this way, all Kindred are vampires but not all vampires are Kindred. And he simply can not refer to himself with such a depressing term. He has no angsty past, no unfortunate life, he's perfectly content with immortality, so no reason to call himself Kindred and no reason to consider himself any sort of ideal. Unlike those Sabbat and Carmilla bastards. Uncivilized wolves, trying to turn the world into their feeding grounds. They've long forgotten what it feels like to fight, attacking only to kill and diplomizing all the time. That stuff was for less refined men.

 

“The Day of Judgment is coming and frankly, I would rather the world not be destroyed by Angels in a hail of fire and holy blades.” He treats the situation as if they were going carpooling rather than going to kill an angel.

 

“Are you serious?” Millia asks, her face not yet registering the information or rather, not believing it to be true.

 

Slayer folds his legs over and takes a puff of his pipe, reveling in the taste of it.

 

“Certainly. One of those Midnight Carnival boys themselves told me. A Kindred of the East he was; very charming, handsome too. I think you'd like him.”

 

“Get to the point!” She snaps, rightfully angry at him for beating around the bush. “What's this about Judgment and why do I need to help?”

 

“Well, there is going to be a small army, or so I was told, so we ought to get ourselves a nice little group, yes? Safety in numbers and all that. My plan is to grab the remaining Kindred in the area and challenge the army to a battle. Then we wipe out the Angels, hopefully before any cities end up demolished by them, and continue on with our lives unimpeded by Rapture or other silly things like that.” He takes another puff. “You see my dear, I may be strong but I am only one man. While I will undoubtedly survive the battle, I can not say that I will win it. If I am outnumbered, some of them may simply hold me back while the others do what they may. With the assistance of more people, I won't get outnumbered and I can have someone do crowd control, simple as that. It doesn't have to be many more either. The Kindred boy told me that God has not authorized this and the Angels are doing this of their own violation so most likely, there will not be many to fight. And if there are, they'll be grunts which mankind can easily destroy on their own. If they survived the first and second Crusades, they can survive this.”

 

Slayer glances behind him, watching the last few stands of white disappear into the night. It doesn't seem like Venom will be giving him any assistance right now, a shame. Oh well, the boy will probably come around eventually. He always does. He has a very noble character for a child raised among thugs and low life killers. And that woman with him, her aura has an interesting shade. She'll be useful, he's sure. But her and him, they are too much right now. At the moment, one dysfunctional couple is enough.

 

“Well, if the world is at stake then I guess I'm obligated to help you.” Millia sulks but there is a certain lightheartedness in her tone.

 

He likes to think he and her get along quite well. After that whole thing with the Outrage, they have spoken rather kindly to each other. In fact, he considers her to be if not a friend than at least an acquaintance. But what she thinks of him, that is a different story.

 

“Thank you my dear.” He stands up and grabs his cloak.

 

It wraps around his body as if defying gravity (it probably was), returning to it's original position. The vampire walks over towards the unconscious body of his former apprentice and kicks his body gently-ish.

 

“Zato, wake up. Zato.” He says firmly but not unkindly although the message is lost with the kicking.

 

The Lasombra wakes up, groaning and rubbing the bruise covering the right side of his jaw.

 

“Do you remember what happened?” Slayer asks, still kicking him.

 

The Lasombra sneers and rolls to the side to avoid his former Master's attack.

 

“All I remember is that you kicked me.” He mutters, covering his face with shadows as to avoid the glare of the moon.

 

“Correction, I punched you. You slipt into the Beast and lost all rational thought. It was the only way I was able to snap you out of it.” Also, he really did deserve it.

 

“I see. Well in that case, thank you Elder. I appreciate your help. But pray, tell me, what has brought you here?” Zato asks, vanishing into a puddle of shadows and reforming as a standing human.

 

“The Day of Judgment. I want your assistance in preventing Angels from destroying mankind as we know it. Oh and, Millia's helping.” He shortens the speech greatly, knowing that Zato would simply agree because he would be around Millia.

 

Ah young love, it is so destructive and malnourished. Not like Sharon and him, no, no, that was true love. Love that would withstand the passage of time and the death of the world twice over.

 

“If Millia finds it a worthy cause, so do I.” Yes, exactly as planned.

 

He can read Zato like an open book.

 

“Well in that case, shall we go? I don't want to waste time you see. We have to get to Albania before the week is up you see. On Sunday, the first Angel arrives.” Slayer mentions, pocketing his pipe once more.

 

He doesn't want it to get damaged you see. It's a family heirloom.

 

“I'll go whenever.” Millia replies, such a charming woman with her casual attitude. Zato was a fool to give her up.

 

Slayer walks over to the edge of the building, grinning as the moon glints of his teeth (so much sharper than the other two's. If it wasn't for their pale complexions, they would look human.).

 

“Come on then.”

 

He falls backwards, his cape spreading out beside him to allow easy teleportation to where he had Sharon park the car. He bites back the little bit of illness he feels. Phantom City always gave him more than a few chills, just the atmosphere of the place, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can probably guess which character is getting added in the Assassins - 1 plotline. Also, Happy Birthday Slayer, sorry your chapter was so small, not enough time to elaborate and not enough content.


	20. It Was Called Victim

It Was Called Victim

 

_He can not recall the first time he cried but he remembers very vividly the last. The feeling of bile building up inside of his throat and slipping out over his lips and in between the fingers he had lifted to stop it – the built up stress and the existential crisis burning their way out of his body the only way they knew how –, the replayed memory of those moans and the cold feeling of humiliation, he carries them with him. They buried themselves within his heart, cracking open his ribcage and draining all hope that he had carried within it, replacing it with rage and resentment and fear. What waould Master want with him, now that he has her? After all, he was nothing more than a Hunting Dog. He had no right to have feelings, much less for a man of such greatness. But even so, tears found themselves streaking freely from his eyes, dripping down into the puddle of anxiety he had left on the floor._

 

_He ran into one of the bathrooms near the hall and vomited into the sink again, dry heaving afterwards. And when he was sure all of the bile had been freed he washed his hands and took some paper towels to clean the mess. He did not want Master Zato to see his shame. So gathering his mental reserves, he mopped up the accumulated filth off the floor and discarded the tissues in an inconspicuous trash can at the end of the hallway. He was, for once, happy that Master had removed all the carpeting from the building._

 

_He returned to make sure the mess was truly gone but could not help but peek through the door once more. That woman, it was definitely that woman. Her hair wrapped around Master's waist, the blonde curls were unmistakable. He closed the door with a click, tears crawling out from his eyes, further disgracing him. But still, the humiliation did not end._

 

“ _Do you hear that?” She called out, her voice ringing throughout the halls._

 

“ _Yes. Shall I go see what it was?” His Master replied, he sounded so... out of breath._

 

_The boy took off running, frightened at the anger he was sure his Master would have. He was sure that today he would be replaced, if not because he was worthless compared to Miss Millia then because of his inability to control his emotions. At fourteen, he ought to have known better._

 

_But Zato was much faster and caught him easily, like the spider catches the fly. The coldness and the monochrome of his Master's face were enough to make him start crying again but the words that he spoke, they stay with Venom even now._

 

“ _You're being pathetic now Venom. Assassins don't cry.” He replied, not with anger or with pain or any sort of emotion really. He said it as if he were reminding the boy to get his elbow off the table._

 

_Perhaps that is why it hurt so much, why Venom holds the words to himself. No, he holds them to himself because he really is that pathetic, chasing things that will never come, perpetually victimizing himself with his emotions._

 

-*-

 

He feels like crying right now. It was so difficult pretending that he did not want Zato to return to normal, to continue living on as his Master but for the sake of them all, he had to. But he is a man as well as an assassin and he was told often as a boy that men do not cry. So he clutches onto his feelings and buries them inside himself where even he does not have to look at such unsightly things.

 

“What's the matter?” Baiken asks.

 

He is not quite sure when she stopped running and came back to see him but he is grateful for the act all the same.

 

“I am just remembering unpleasant things.” Venom replies, smiling from behind that curtain of hair – mostly to convince himself that he is alright.

 

The woman shakes her head and crawls on top of a dumpster near the side of the building, pipe in her remaining hand.

 

“Until you tell the truth, we ain't moving.” She remarks, lighting the pipe with a burst of energy.

 

Venom sighs and crawls onto the dumpster beside her, wrinkling his nose at the smell of corpses emancipating from it. Probably where the locals discarded their 'feed'.

 

“I do not like fighting with Master. It makes me emotional.” He shies away from any words resembling 'upset' out of misplaced fear that she'll reject him.

 

Instead, she places the pipe between her lips – strangely tinged pink despite her being possibly the least feminine person he knows – and breathes out; the smoke coiling around her body like a dragon. He wonders if this is the manifestation of 'Ki'.

 

“'s cause you love him.” She breathes out the words along with more of that dragon smoke.

 

He isn't surprised. It must be obvious. After all, he would not go to the lengths he has gone to if he loved Zato as a friend. He would not even go this far for someone he considered a brother. It was for Zato and Zato alone that he would commit so many sins and for only Zato would he sacrifice himself so. And while he is sure that many sisters and brothers have sacrificed themselves for a relative, he was not one of those people. He lived and died only for the sake of his Master and the love that burns within himself.

 

“How long have you known?” He asks, his voice shaking with every passing breeze.

 

“Since you called him your 'friend'. Your tone of voice was unmistakable. Anyone could have seen it.”

 

He supposes he should have controlled his tone. It was too soft, too gentle. He won't make that mistake again.

 

“And you think no worse of me?” He knows the answer, yes, but he has to ask to sate the insecurities lying within his chest.

 

It was a near compulsion. Years of rejection and being 'second-best' will do that to a man. No matter how strong they were perceived to be.

 

“I don't give a fuck.” Coarse but in a kind way. “As long as you do what's necessary, I don't care if you like to bang cakes in your spare time. Only those Theocracy bastards give a fuck about that kinda thing these days and that's just cause they don't wanna admit they were wrong about anything. Hell, they used to have a 'don't ask, don't tell' policy back in the day. So calm down, alright?”

 

“Why are you being so kind to me?” Another insecurity that needs burying.

 

He wonders what will befall him if he removes all his insecurities. Without them, he would probably fall apart. They are the only things keeping him together, right now. How sad that the only thing preventing him from going mad are the very things he hates. The universe sure does love dramatic irony.

 

“'Cause you remind me of some kid I knew once.” She blows out her pipe with a quick breath and hops off the dumpster. “Right, we gotta cut this short. The kid's probably getting antsy being alone.”

 

He knows better than to ask her about the kid. If she doesn't explain herself, then it is a touchy subject and he ought to leave it alone. She reminds him of Millia in that regard. It's amusing actually. He hates that woman to her very core but this one shared a few traits with her and he finds all of them extremely endearing. No, this is nothing to overthink, he realizes. It is just that Millia's particular set of personality traits are overtly aggressive and haughty and he dislikes them. He doesn't just dislike her out of petty things like jealousy. He's better than that. He hopes he's better than that.

 

He shakes the thoughts away and follows Baiken's lead towards where she hid the truck. She claimed she did not want the boy to fall afoul of Wraiths, so she hid it but most likely she just wanted him out of the way. He has a magnificent aura, yes, but he seems inexperienced regarding Kindred and really, Magics as a whole. But his heart is in the right place, he thinks, and he asked nicely so Venom will assist him anyway. It is only right. And regardless, he now has another motivation to go to Barcelona. He must see that Midnight Carnival and ask them about this 'Day of Judgment', see if what Slayer said was true. While he knows the man does not have a habit of outright lying, he most likely omitted any information that he was 'unsure' about either out of misguided kindness or for his own bizarre amusement. Then, he must convince the others to go off to Albania with him. But, first step goes first, yet another road trip.

 

It's not to say that he dislikes them, per say. In fact, he finds them quite enjoyable, but only at the right time. Which was not now. Bouncing along in that truck, away from the life he has grown so accustomed to, with nothing to entertain him but that sketch pad and the occasional dialogue from either Baiken or Axl, it is painful. It leaves him with his thoughts and they are much too wild and much too hateful to be allowed to blossom within him. But it can not be helped.

 

Early today, he recalled that time he vomited outside of Zato's room. It still haunts his nightmares. It was the worst time faltered. Not even his near love confession in the garden could compare. To have Zato call him pathetic, that was truly the worst thing. And he knows one day that his Master will say it again and that thought similarly haunts him. So he wishes that these trips would end, so that he may hold off the thoughts again and avoid such victimizing feelings.

 

He wonders out of the corner of his mind what a story about him would be called. Ah, he can see it in his head. “It Was Called Victim”. A good summary of himself, he thinks. He's nothing more than a victim being assaulted by his own malformed and childish feelings.

 

She parked the truck inside of a building, he notices. He should have stayed and watched her. The amount of structural damage she caused could have easily caused the entire thing to go crashing down on top of the eighteen wheeler and it would be a Hell of time getting it out. The boy inside looks, understandably, terrified. He's wrapped his bandana around his face although it might just be because he saw a Wraith or something.

 

Baiken takes the keys out of her pocket and unlocks the truck, the clicking resounding throughout the area.

 

“Get in.” She nods towards Venom.

 

He, of course, obliges and crawls into the back. Baiken gets back in the driver's seat, revving the vehicle up without pause.

 

But even so, through the sound of the engine roaring, Venom can hear sobbing coming from the boy.

 

“Are you alright?” Venom inquires towards the blonde.

 

The boy shakes his head, wrapping the cloth tighter.

 

“Don't you know where we are?” He whimpers, the cloth somewhat confining his voice so Venom has to strain to hear him.

 

“No.” He replies, not sure what the significance of an abandoned city is.

 

“We're in Phantom City.”

 

He remembers hearing that name before but doesn't find it immediately relevant. But Baiken whips out from the building and hurtles down the road faster than usual so she must know something.

 

“Shit, shit, shit!” She screams, applying even more gas. “Why didn't you say so before we came here?!”

 

“I didn't know!” Axl sobs.

 

“I don't understand.” Venom interrupts, finding this much more important than whatever it was they were worried about.

 

Baiken clicks her tongue.

 

“Fishmalk central. There are just Fishmalks and Wraiths everywhere! It was the most dangerous place we could have gone! And it was a fucking full moon!” She replies.

 

“I saw one!” Axl continues to sob.

 

Venom shakes his head. He never found either Wraiths or Malkavians to be a big deal. The former, could hardly do anything to the physical realm without a host and the former, too mad to do anything right. But if the two combined, they would be very deadly indeed. The Malkavian would not seek an exorcism because they would think the Wraith was a hallucination and the Wraith could do what it pleased without anyone being the wiser as Malkavians tend towards split personalities. Perhaps that was the danger of Phantom City? The mingling of those two species into the kind of thing you really only see in foreign horror movies.

 

“One what?” Venom asks.

 

“I don't know! I just looked away and the next thing I know so kid is asking if I know where his mom is and when I say I don't, he just starts screaming at me! It was terrifying!” Axl screams in response.

 

Venom notes that the boy is afraid of Wraiths and makes the decision to keep on the look out for them; simply to make things easier on himself.

 

“If it helps you any, there won't be any Wraiths in Barcelona. They don't like populated areas much.” The assassin mentions in as casual a tone as possible.

 

Axl does at least seem to stop sobbing and takes the bandana off his head, revealing a reddened face.

 

“Really?” He asks, his eyes lighting up like a child's.

 

“Yes, really.” With a face like that, how could Venom possibly say no.

 

And when the boy sniffles again and wraps his bandana over his head, the assassin can swear he hears his heart melting. He's always had a thing for blondes, you know. Men with light coloured hair (blonde, white, silver) were always the most attractive. Except for himself. He was told frequently his hair was unappealing and he agrees. It still offends him when people insult it, though.

 

“So, to Barcelona we go then?” Baiken asks, apparently trying to change the subject.

 

“Yes. We can probably catch back up with Chipp there. Assuming that Major Ky Kiske does not fall afoul of the traffic rush.” Venom smirks a bit at the last sentence.

 

He hates the military. They did nothing but cause trouble for everyone back in the United Kingdom. He was 'randomly' searched at least once a day as a child because of the Theocracy.

 

“Why'd he jump out like that anyway?” The blonde appears to have calmed down greatly.

 

“He told me that he was doing it to both distract them and to eavesdrop on their conversations.” Venom replies.

 

“Oh. Are you sure he didn't just want to avoid having to fight the Sabbat with you?” Well, well, Axl can be quite perceptive on the sly it seems.

 

“Most likely that as well.” Venom confirms with just a small smile.

 

“And another question. Totally unrelated but I'm curious. What's this Corax in Barcelona look like exactly? I want to know if I've heard about him before.” The boy asks with a smile.

 

The assassin presses a finger to his lips and thinks for a moment. He does not know the exact appearance but he has gotten descriptions from people.

 

“He has been described as being rather short for a man but he appears taller due to his lithe appearance and habit of floating. His skin is described as being either white or a very pale purple and he apparently has a very 'effeminate yet handsome looking' face but only one eye. He also has a number of extreme piercings, including one in his forehead, I believe.”

 

Axl stops moving for a moment. For the first time since they first spoke to him, he has gone totally still. He looks towards Baiken and back at Venom, eyes wide and face drained of colour.

 

“What?” The woman scoffs.

 

Axl stutters and shakes his head, placing it in his hands.

 

“I've met that man before.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Axl hijacking Venom's chapter. Don't worry baby, you'll get elaborated on later on. You have an entire subplot to you. Just, Axl goes first, LOL. 
> 
> Next chapters: Kagematsuri, March of the Wicked King, The Midnight Carnival, in that order. Then we dash off into Part Three.


	21. Kagematsuri

Kagematsuri

 

_There is a part of his mind that has seen this woman before but where or when, he can not recall. The red paint on her lips, the burning hatred in those eyes (he can not remember if they are golden or blue or green but the way she uses them and the feelings she puts in them, he could never forget.) and fake pleasure in her voice, those are quite memorable. But not in the way one would normally remember a beautiful woman but instead, the way one would remember a hated and feared enemy. This is how he remembers that Demon, 'Justice'. They have the same look. The same e---_

 

_Cold, biting wind against his skin, blood staining his face and crawling out from his lips, her lips curling into a sneer as she looks down upon his fragile body, weeping tears of blood. He remembers grasping tightly onto the wound on his chest and screaming out for Sol's hand, he remembers begging for it and begging for God – for once – to help him touch her one last time. He remembers seeing her eyes, so full of hatred and of...., judging him for his inability to save himself as she asked why God ought to let him live. He does not remember what he said. In fact, he could have sworn that he was alone up until a few soldiers from his platoon grabbed him. When he closes his eyes and thinks on the memory again, she isn't there. It is only when he looks upon her does he remember it. And yet, even if he looks away, there is still something, some thought, holding tightly onto his good memory._

 

_He was on a bed of roses when that blow struck against his skin (the smell of copper and the cold still burns inside him). It had gotten cold suddenly, that very day in fact, so they had survived but just barely. He could hardly move, no wait, he could not for the sake of those roses. They had held so tightly onto his body that with his injured body and the sudden frostbite that had stung at his lips, he could not break free._

 

_Yes, he remembers roses. So when he closes his eyes he remembers her._

 

_The roses that were digging into his body with their thorns had a colour quite similar to the colour of her lips._

 

-*-

 

He was too absorbed in his thoughts, he realizes when the guitar comes into contact with the sensitive area of the entire left side of his face. The next thought is, _“Did she kick that up from in between her legs?”_ but (thankfully) before he can truly dwell on that, his vision blurs from the pain of another hit. He is not sure what she did or what she hit him with but all he knows is that he's been knocked flat on his back. He sees red from the pain and the sensation, the colour reminds him of roses.

 

“Come on baby. I wanna play with you!” The woman whines, lifting her skirt up to taunt – or to entice? – him. “Just for a little bit longer~”

 

He slides in between her legs, the friction of his coat and the off white tiles causing a squeaking sound to fill the area and alert more people to their battle, getting a much better view of her tight black underwear (something he isn't all too fond off) and turns to face her. Seeing her walking towards him casually, as if he were no threat, he takes what he perceives as an opportunity to position himself in the Theocracy signature fighting stance (for sword wielders at least), one leg in front of the other, sword raised above his head. This way, he hopes to better block her attacks.

 

But she's faster than he first thought. Before he can fully understand what she's doing, a fist comes into contact with his stomach, knocking the air out of him. Then, more like a taunt than an actual blow, she brings her knee up into his groin, causing him to cry out in a much higher pitched voice than usual. And as he falls forwards (curling up from the immense pain of it all) she slams her guitar into his back.

 

And yet, even in this sort of losing state, there's no Requiem for the Officer. She grabs his head by a few strands of hair and lifts him up to face her. Those rose like lips curl into a sneer, a mask of hatred and sin but just enough stupidity that he realizes if he were to perform more clever, he could easily defeat her. But right now, there is hardly anything that can be done except for him to weakly try and contort his face into a similar visage.

 

“I said get up!” She laughs, not a single trace of bitterness in it, digging her nails into his scalp so hard that he can feel the blood trickling slowly down his face.

 

Ky spits at her, a desperate defiant act that he recalls his men pulling during The Crusades but it never worked quite so well. Demons don't care about such things as 'pride' or 'fear', they only know instinct and hunger. But this woman, she isn't as far removed from humanity, from pride and sin, as those demons. She recoils and sneers at him, such passion in her face that if she were not a killer he would recommend she become a legitimate musician, throwing his head back on the ground and jumping away.

 

He notices that a lot of her attacks require running starts. Interesting.

 

“I thought you were a gentleman.” She remarks, stepping away so she would be close enough to hit him with her guitar if she held the very end of it. “Oh well, I'll just have to spank some manners into you.”

 

She starts running towards him again, her heels clicking against the tiles in a way he would not think ominous if it were any other woman but when it's her heels, the sound seems to just get under his skin. Even so, he waits patiently until she raises her guitar again and rolls out of the way, pointing his sword towards her breast in a matter of seconds.

 

“Sorry Ma'am but I think you need to learn some manners yourself.” He replies, kicking her in the stomach so he may clear some space around himself.

 

She just barely blocks it, raising her guitar at the last second. Even so, she's knocked back and that allows him some time to jump backwards and out of the way. God, he hopes no one is planning on tripping him up.

 

“You pervert! Striking a woman with that naked sword of yours! So scandalous~!” She shrieks in mock disgust before continuing our assault.

 

This time, he doesn't even bother planning a counter attack and blocks. She is too fast for him to take on with his usual offensive strategy. He'll have to just block and wait for openings in which to attack her, or get out of this fight as soon as possible.

 

She runs towards him at that super speed again but this time he notices a fatal flaw in her run. In order to get to that speed, she utilizes her aerial techniques. She's effectively jumping. And come to think of it, almost all of her attacks feature aerials. Perhaps this fight can be won after all. All he'll have to do is bind her feet. He could really use Aquila's help right now. Their teeth could easily go through that woman's boots (despite them looking like leather) or at the very least, his grip would prevent her from flying off just long enough for him to get a good thrust in. Oh God, he's getting distracted again.

 

The Officer jumps away from her incoming attack, his face mere millimeters away from the guitar swing. She appears to take exception to that and with a shriek, sends a glowing red beam of light towards him. He barely ducks under it and even so, his boots don't have quite a good grip on the tile floor and he's been caught off balance. She knocks him to the ground and onto his back with a simple kick to the leg.

 

“Pathetic.” She sneers, her red lips twisting with a nearly overwhelming hatred behind them.

 

Out of the corner of his mind he wonders what he did to make her hate him so much.

 

“You're supposed to be warrior. A chosen man of God. But you can't even frigging hit me? Fucking worthless! If my boss wasn't watching me, I'd execute you myself! Filthy excuse for a Holy Kn—”

 

He slices across her cheek with his blade, drawing just a bit of blood. And you know, he didn't even expect to do it himself. The speed of which he stood up and did that maneuver, it was just barely at the limits of what a human such as himself could handle. But he has never been good with that sort of trash talking.

 

“Wha---?”

 

She reaches her hand up, feeling her cheek, only to be knocked to the ground by a well placed kick to the groin.

 

“Well come on, get up. I want to play with you. Just a little bit longer.” He remarks with a certain coldness in his voice he's developed through years of suffering. Those voices, those eyes, that linger in the back of his mind, he carries them with him and strengthens his resolve. If the Gears couldn't get to him, what makes her think she can? She's nothing more than an overpowered harlot to him. And he's sure her companions are little better.

 

“Ohhhh, a tease, are we? when I'm done with you gorgeous, that sword of yours...” She grabs his sword with her bare hand, squeezing on it and feeling seemingly no pain. He tries to free it but her grip is much too tight “Is going _RIGHT UP YOUR FUCKING ASS!”_

 

She yanks the blade from him with not a drop of hesitation and throws it aside. In lands in a toppled vegetable cart with a clank.

 

He looks behind him and recalls the automatic doors. Taking his last opportunity, he slides in between her legs again (this is why a lady should keep them closed) and grabs onto the hilt of his sword, whirling around just in time to block another of her aerial moves. Gathering his mental reserves, he roughly cleaves the air around her, to clear a space around himself and makes a mad rush towards the door, wondering out of the corner of his mind where the Hell that damn dog is.

 

But she's still so much faster and before he knows it, she's standing behind him.

 

“I didn't say we were done honey~” She grins (and yet, sounds so close to screaming), swinging her guitar hard enough that he lands on the hood of his own car, shattering the windshield and causing glass to cover the still unconscious Sol Badguy.

 

That, of course, wakes the man from his slumber. Even a natural 20 could not have kept him sleeping after that.

 

“The fuck?” The bulky man asks.

 

“I'm being attacked by a prostitute!” Is all Ky can manage to choke out and of course, he had to say it in the most whiny voice. He'll punch himself for it later.

 

And Sol, for laughing at him.

 

“Wow.” Is all the other man can say after the laughter ceases.

 

All while the woman takes the time to start setting up her Magics again. Great job stopping her Sol. Some messenger he is.

 

Still, Ky manages to crawl off the hood, ignore the shards of glass in his back and interrupt whatever spell she's trying to cast. The sword makes contact with her guitar, cutting off her rift and sending her flying backwards into the street. Hopefully she'll get hit by a car and that will be that. In the meantime, he turns towards Sol.

 

“Get out and help me!” He pleads, being deliberately whiny this time.

 

Sol grumbles and cracks his knuckles.

 

“Fine you fucking baby.” He mutters, kicking the car door out (not like Ky was planning on repairing it anyway) and walking towards the woman.

 

He draws the Fireseal from it's sheathe (is that even a sheathe or does he just hang it on his belt like a fucking animal?)

 

“Come on lady. How's about a threesome?” My god, now they're both doing it.

 

How he wishes it was Tessie that woke up instead. She's such a nice girl. And where the hell is that dog anyway? Oh well, it's probably too dangerous for an animal like them.

 

The woman stands up and sneers at them both, her expression contorting into a hellish leer.

 

“That's the kinda stuff I'm talking about baby!” She remarks, slapping her thighs as if trying to keep an optimistic viewpoint.

 

Ky blocks right away, knowing her tricks. Sol, instead, slams the blunt end of the Fireseal into her, knocking her down to the ground almost instantly.

 

“She's not hard.” The bastard laughs.

 

“She's faster than me!” Ky replies, screaming just so slightly.

 

Sol shrugs and hits her again while she's on the ground. Though, while the blow connects, she hardly seems phased and simply rolls away, grabbing onto her guitar and swinging it upwards as to hit Sol somewhere. Ky can't be sure where, however, as it never makes contact. Instead, Sol grabs it and tries to send her flying. But to no avail, she uses another dirty trick and kicks him in the testicles. It seems.... very effective.

 

And then she spins on her heels and winks at Ky, causing a shiver to do down his spine (which still has about twelve pieces of glass stuck in it).

 

“Come on and get some!” She smirks, running off down the road.

 

And against his better judgments, Ky chases after her, hoping Sol is in tow (nevermind, the sound of Sol roaring like some kind of demon pretty much confirms it).

 

Tessie's going to be quite distressed when she wakes up alone with a ruined car and no help in sight. He'll have to come back for her and the dog. Such a heavy sleeper.

 

Sol's gotten in front of him already, more pissed off than usual. Thank God he doesn't even seem to notice Ky. Fighting off his teammate and that woman, that would be impossible. She already mopped the damn tiles with him. A crushing defeat, he does admit it, but she was faster than a Mage ought to be and seemed to possess some sort of glamour. Hopefully her teammates are more his speed. And by that, he means slower. Illusions are all well and good, something he's been trained to handle but fighting a woman that moves that fast, it's just nasty. Especially because she appeared to have nearly limitless magical potential at the time. Perhaps he just caught her at a good time. Perhaps in practice she's not as good as he first thought. Oh well, it is irrelevant now.

 

But despite her being so fast, he catches up to her with some relative ease (even considering the adrenaline rush that's currently going through his tiny, delicate body). It's actually a little bit fishy. She's standing there, not even out of breath, smiling in front of her place which is even marked “The Midnight Carnival” in a red neon lighting.

 

The Officer turns towards Sol and opens his mouth, trying to instruct him to stop, only for Sol to go rushing towards the woman. She smirks and dodges, flying upwards into the air, and allows him to crash in through the front door. She then turns her attentions towards Ky.

 

“Fuck off kid, this Kagematsuri has nothing to do with you.” Her face and tone are a weird mix between a smile and a snarl and it makes her sound so very... inhuman.

 

But that will not deter him.

 

“You are the one that challenged me. If it had naught to do with me then why did you speak to me in the first place?” He questions, drawing his sword preemptively lest she try and sneak in an attack.

 

“Cause I think you're hot~” She replies with that same leering face that is buried somewhere deep inside his memory.

 

He looks down at her (despite those power heels of hers making it so there really isn't much of a height difference) and wrinkles his nose. The body language seems to go over the woman's head, however.

 

“That's obviously a lie. But even if it weren't, I'm not one to leave a companion alone.” He says.

 

She clicks her tongue, the entire persona she has built temporarily falling to pieces.

 

“Right fine. Wait out here then and if I don't bring him back, feel free to run me through with that big ol' sword of yours, okay?” She giggles. “Besides, wouldn't it be nice to get that glass out of your cute little back?”

 

He frowns but sheathes his sword; he's learnt to only pick fights when he is sure that he will win and he needs time to rest from the previous ordeal. His entire body is bruised and aching and the more self care he can do before the next fight, the better.

 

“Fine. I will wait here for half an hour.” He sighs, sitting down on the pavement in front of the house but making it so that he still faces it. “If he doesn't return, I will kill you.”

 

But he turns away from her so he may not have to look at those lips of hers. They bring back such painful memories.

 

“Glad you see thing's my way~” She purrs, the clacking of her heels getting gradually quieter.

 

Out of the corner of his mind, he wonders if this is quite the right decision as he pulls the first shard of glass from his bleeding back.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this forever ago but only just edited it.
> 
> I'm so sorry there haven't been any updates... School has been problematic. 
> 
> But I will try and update much more.
> 
> And this is only the first two parts! 4 more remain for a total of 81 chapters. 
> 
> Basically, I won't be posting on a chapter by chapter basis. Instead, I'll be posting everytime I have the next 'set' of chapters. Sometimes it will be 4, sometimes 3 or 2. But never just one! So I hope to update once a week with multiple co


	22. March of the Wicked King

March of the Wicked King

 

_He remembers seeing a man of that description once. At the moment he had thought the man was simply some sort of Vampire and avoided him but looking back on those interactions, it occurs to him that there was so much more too it. A Corax that shied away from the sun? In and of itself, that was remarkable but beyond that, he remembers the man had something shiny clasped in his palm._

 

_A long fingernail painted black – so long that it resembled a talon more than a nail – stroking the underside of a coin made of gold. From the distance, those raven eyes of the child could pick out the colour and the shape but not the engraving. He wonders out of the corner of his mind if he should have gotten closer. Then again, if he had he has no doubt that he would have ended up more than a little injured. But even so, from that little perch of his, he could see the raven's blood within that man. It simply took him this long to realize it._

 

_Going back upon that memory, he should have known but the moonlight and the gold that he held so tightly onto – as if they were only natural to him – threw him off. That man, he surrendered everything that the boy was told made a raven a raven but regardless, he had more of the bird's blood inside of him than the boy had ever seen before. Even if that blood is somewhat corrupted and pulsing with a darkness of which no moon could ever shine through._

 

 _Yes, he should have known. He should have known by the way the man cocked his head when looking down at_ something _below him, judging it with an unhealthy amount of scorn. He should have known by the very act of the man seeing miles below him as if it were nothing but he was young and had assumed the man was Gangrel or something similar. But the most obvious tell of all should have been the soft winds brushing around him, hailing him and whispering about the 'march of the wicked king'._

 

_Now that he thinks back on it, it's quite embarrassing. He could have solved his first issue already if he had simply been more 'in tune' to what a raven really is. The misconception that the birds adored the sun, bathed in it, would die without it, that they loved their Father so that they could not abandon him was just that, a misconception. In truth, ravens, this one at least, are quite capable of forsaking Gods as any mortal or Kindred._

 

_Well, in the end, he's learnt something. Mother Moon does not, in fact, reveal all._

 

-*-

 

“Oh?” Venom asks after a couple minutes of silence, drawling his voice out for some reason.

 

He hopes that the man doesn't make a habit of speaking like that. It's kind of weird hearing a guy normally so cool and calm over-exaggerating his voice like that. And judging by the way he says it, it seems he has no idea that the word isn't supposed to be said so ridiculously. Then again, he is a very threatening looking Guild guy so probably no one corrects him on quirks like that, maybe just because it makes him seem less scary. Just a little bit less.

 

“Why'd you sound so worried and dramatic about it?” Baiken asks, ignoring the inflection so Axl figures he ought to ignore it as well.

 

With a sigh, he buries the thought and makes a mental note to tell Venom to fix his pronunciation at a later date, when less is on the table.

 

“Because he's scary! I thought he was a Gangrel when I saw him and he wasn't even doing anything! You know what a guy like that could do?!” He practically snaps, feeling rather insecure about what he know perceives to be a weakness.

 

Of course, Baiken being the woman she is, snaps back.

 

“Calm down asshole! I was just asking a friendly question! Tch.” She settles down in the driver's seat and makes a point of not looking at him.

 

What an overreaction. This isn't going well at all. There's no teamwork here. Which, against the well oiled machine that is the Sabbat, is just disastrous. He really does hope that the other two will get over whatever issues they have, temporarily at least, and just try to work with one another. Not to mention Chipp.... He doesn't know that dog's motivations at all but even so he knows just abandoning him would be wrong. Yet, he still has a bad feeling that something is seriously wrong with him. Not in the 'actually he's a madman' kind of way but more like... he's definitely more than a 'stupid junkie' like he's pretending to be. There's a certain aura about him that's way more powerful that a werewolf without a pack should have. There isn't enough anger in him, not enough hatred and way too much charisma for him to be an ordinary Bone Gnawer. And despite knowing that Axl's kinfolk, he still treats him well. And all that for a Homid Type (at least, he thinks Chipp is a Homid type). No, no, there has to be more.

 

“Axl, listen to me.” A strange amount of concern's slipped into the assassin's tone. It's weird. “What do you mean by you thought he was 'a Gangrel'?”

 

“He was animalistic, yeah but not like a Corax. He had feathers and birds were drawn to him but he was holding and wearing gold and he stood in the darkness as if it was nothing!” Axl explains.

 

He can hear Baiken's breath catching in her throat for a second and the way Venom's starting ringing his hands makes it seem if he wasn't overreacting after all.

 

“Are you sure it was gold and not an imitation?” Venom asks, his voice like his Mum's, needlessly worried.

 

The blonde shakes his head.

 

“It was gold.” He confirms.

 

The assassin interlocks his fingers.

 

“I believe we have an issue.” He takes a deep breath. “There are two ways this could be and they are equally bad. The first, the most simple, is that a Kindred found it amusing to turn a Corax as they often do but this one wanted to live so badly that he forced himself to abandon the Sun and as such, lost his weakness to gold. The second, the one I'm most afraid of because at least a Corax turned Kindred has obvious weaknesses, he was trapped or injured with a gold weapon at some point in time and used to the ability to become immune and temporarily lose the touch of Sun but for some reason, he never reconnected the bond to the point where he completely lost any bounds he had with it. Or, in addition to two, he could have traveled to the Umbral but stayed there so long the Sun just... forgot about him. Either way, I understand why you're distressed. I'm... concerned myself.”

 

Baiken scoffs.

 

“The Sun wouldn't just forget. If the guy can touch gold then he abandoned the Sun himself. Which means on one hand, no weakness, on the other, he loses any benefits either the Sun or the Moon could have given him. So he doesn't have any rites. So that's a non issue. He's weaker this way.” She says but she sounds sort of unconvinced of her own words.

 

“Unless he has a different Patron.” The assassin mentions.

 

“Who the fuck would take in a creature like that?” Axl isn't sure if she's asking a question or if she's trying to see if Venom knows what she knows.

 

“I don't know. Maybe he doesn't have a Patron we've heard of before. The Corax that work for the Guild are cut-offs, the clan wants nothing to do with them. And even so, they wouldn't tell us there was some secret Patron that gives them an immunity to gold. You don't think we would have forced them to do it to make them stronger?”

 

Baiken clicks her tongue.

 

“Hey, kid, what was his ethnicity?” She asks.

 

Axl thinks for a moment. It was super dark when he saw the guy after all.

 

“I think he was white, why?” He replies.

 

“Shit. I don't know any Patrons for white guys.” She mutters.

 

“I do but I hardly think any of them would align themselves with him. At the moment, it appears he is half in this world and half in the Umbral.” Venom explains with a sigh behind his voice.

 

“His aura didn't say that though. I know the difference between a Sun Lost Raven and a regular one. Umbra's really easy to see but there weren't any traces of it. There wasn't any Boundary on him.” The blonde is having trouble keeping his thoughts together, just thinking about this guy makes his head hurt.

 

“Backyard. He could have a Patron from the Backyard.” The assassin mentions.

 

Baiken clicks her tongue again, this time (he thinks) ought of annoyance.

 

“You're both wrong. There aren't any Patrons in the Backyard or the Boundary. That's a myth. You can't have one unless you come to this world. But that's irrelevant. If this guy is half in the Umbral, half not, something must have made him like that. Whatever that is, is his Patron. And as that's never actually happened before, no one else has the Patron. If he even has one. That's not a sure thing. He might be weak.” Once again, sounds like she doesn't believe herself.

 

“I find that hard to believe. The depictions of him have always been from bystanders that just happened to be at the scene. Not a single person he has chosen as a target has survived. And of course, there's never a body and we have no idea how he kills. The fact that he kills at all demonstrates that he's more than an ordinary Corax.” And Axl isn't sure what Venom is thinking.

 

He can't see his face and he can't hear any inflections in his voice and even the man's body language is thought about to carefully craft the appearance of a man above emotions. But judging by how he nearly lost his mind during the whole thing with the 'Zato' fellow, he's no where near as emotionless as he pretends. In fact, it looks like he's full of it. Or maybe he's less emotional than most people but because he hides it so often, when it slips out, it slips out really badly. Axl sort of feels bad for him, in a way. He can't imagine not being able to smile. He can't imagine how Venom lives hiding away from everything like that. Or how Baiken does it either. Whatever happened to them, he wishes he'll never have to experience it.

 

But he's very firmly aware that there's something that could take his smile away from him.

 

He needs to find Megumi, now.

 

-*-

 

The two of them, Venom and Baiken, discussed theories for so many hours that Axl just sort of, got bored with them. He took a nap, woke up, took another nap. The general consensus is 'Either he's a vampire bird or he's a weird half Umbra thing either way we're screwed'. Not something Axl wanted to hear but really, he'll deal with this too. If it's for Megumi's sake, he'd fight this guy even if he was a God. If it was for her sake, he would fight the goddamned Moon.

 

But for now, he can't do anything but wait.

 

“Are we almost there?” He asks the woman with a sigh.

 

“We're there when we're fucking there!” She snaps.

 

Venom shakes his head.

 

“We're just outside the Red Light Distinct but Baiken hasn't slept in a few days so she's rather irritated.” He explains.

 

“I'm not fucking irritated!” She shrieks, irritatedly.

 

“My apologies.” The assassin replies with a bit of smugness in his tone. “Regardless, pull over. We won't get anywhere just by driving around looking for the place. We've got to ask.”

 

While Baiken does pull over, she does so with a sneer and a mumble under her breath in what Axl guesses must be Japanese.

 

“Fine but I ain't asking.” She sneers, pulling the keys out of the ignition.

 

Axl unbuckles his seatbelt, the metal bit catching his hand on the way out and turning it slightly red. Damn it, he needs to work on being less careless.

 

“I'll go.” He mentions, opening the door and running off before either of them can give their opinion on the situation.

 

And he sort of wishes he didn't because it's actually a bit chilly. It shouldn't be this cold but even so, he can almost see traces of snow falling in the distance. Maybe some kind of Element Mage has a beef with the city? Whatever. It's not that big of a deal but there's a lot of ice on the ground (bizarrely, only in some select places) and he'll have to make sure he doesn't slip on any of it.

 

He falls flat on his ass as soon as he takes a step and tears well up in his eyes. He didn't see it at all! It blended in so perfectly with the black road that he totally had no way of knowing other than the slight glisten of the street lights on it. And somehow now it feels even colder. To the point where he can see his breath. He shakes his head and stands up, biting back the tears (what a crybaby).

 

He clutches his vest tighter to his body and starts walking (slowly) towards the first person he sees on the street. But you know, this lady is wrapped up in bandages. Her legs, arms, forehead, all of them are wrapped rather tightly and she's almost shuffling, dragging a... key behind herself. While he is a bit afraid that she'll turn out to be a zombie or something, he approaches regardless.

 

“Hey lady, do you know where I can find the Midnight Carnival?” He asks, holding back the sudden realization that despite the fact the area is so cold, she's wearing practically nothing.

 

She turns towards him, the bags under her eyes looking more like shadows from beneath the glare of the streetlamp.

 

“That way.” She remarks, drawing up a shaking hand and pointing down the street.

 

Axl draws back ever so slightly in fear that she would perhaps consume his tasty flesh.

 

“Down, then right.” She says, glancing at him as if she thought he didn't understand what she meant.

 

And so, he relaxes a bit. Even if she is a zombie, she doesn't seem interested in consuming his flesh in the slightest.

 

“Thanks love.” He replies, flashing his million dollar smile at her. You know, just in case zombies make good girlfriends.

 

Unfortunately, she does not appear to reciprocate and instead, continues shuffling towards her path, dragging the key behind her as if it were a treasured companion in need of medical assistance. Axl takes this as an excuse to shake the remains of confusion and stress off himself. He has bigger things to worry about then some sort of zombie girl. Even if she is extremely sexy for a woman he's convinced is dead.

 

He turns back towards the truck and takes a few steps only to hear heated arguing from his comrades. He isn't quite sure what they found so important they should stop and argue about it but whatever it is, seems to anger Venom to an extreme amount. Which in and of itself is a bit odd, considering that for the entire time they've been riding together, the guy's been putting on a stoic attitude. But right now, it sounds like his blood is made of fire.

 

“I am telling you, we can not simply go rushing into a fight like that! We don't know what sort of abilities they have!” The assassin snaps, his roaring echoing throughout the streets.

 

“And I'm telling _you_ we don't have time to waste with your nancy pansy bullshit! We attack now, with or without you!” And somehow she's even louder.

 

He was gone like... two minutes and they're already at each other's throats. At this rate, this 'team' of theirs is going to rip at the seams.

 

“They will kill you!”

 

“I don't give a fu--”

 

Axl runs towards the tuck and slams a hand against the window, causing a loud banging noise to cancel out the still resonating screeches from this pair of wild cats. The two of them stand, staring at the door with mouths hanging ever so slightly open. They look shocked to see that he can manage such feats of daring.

 

“Stop arguing and let's go.” He says simply, voice unhindered by the glass despite the fact that he hasn't raised his voice an octave.

 

The two of them glance at each other and Venom opens the door, slowly but surely.

 

“Right. Yes. Let's go.” The assassin stutters, taking his seat with a bit of shame in his voice.

 

Looks as if he doesn't like to get caught arguing. Good to know.

 

“So are we attacking or what?” Baiken asks, refusing to miss another beat.

 

“Not yet. We go up there, we listen in, we wait. Then we attack. Just rushing into battle will get us all killed. We don't know what they are and are not capable of.”

 

“I wasn't asking you. I was asking the kid. We'll settle this with a vote.” She snarls.

 

By the tone of her voice (the burning hatred inside of it), he knows that he better pick a side fast. Otherwise, she might be at his throat; like a werewolf strangling a chicken.

 

So... on one hand, Venom is definitely right, none of them know what they'll be fighting. They know about the Chinese Vampire but not what Dharma they subscribe too (if any) and the facts on the Mage are fuzzy at best. Then there's the supposed 'Corax' who is either the weakest thing he'll ever have to see or the strongest and right now, there's no way of telling one from the other. Besides that, they aren't in such good shape without Chipp. Venom may have some tricks up his sleeve (might not even be human judging by that eye of that hair of his) and Baiken seems to be able to use some sort of Divine magics (though she might not be aware of them) but he's effectively a human with a fancy ability which is totally worthless in combat. Maybe the Mage might get confused by his Kusarigamas and their seemingly magic chain (he got them from Megumi and who knows what she did to them. She always was a special girl) but beyond that, he's pretty useless. So that's what? Two humans against what might be an Archmage, some 'ascended' Vampire and a Corax that loathes the sun? They'll be crushed, definitely.

 

But on the other hand, he doesn't have time for them to decide when it _is_ time. He needs to either coerce or browbeat that Corax bastard into telling him how to use this power more effectively, then he needs to find Megumi and hopefully Fredrick before anything really goes down. The birds have been migrating, they sense Hell over the horizon. They say that the Corax will soon be no more, that they are being replaced with different creatures, soulless seers and tricksters and that a New World of Darkness approaches on the heels of a Goddess and a Demon. He doesn't quite know what they mean by that but he is sure that at least one of those Midnight Carnies will. Ninety percent sure. Fifty. Twenty, at least.

 

And hey, maybe it'll be his day for once and Chipp'll be there with the Theocracy bastards.

 

“Well, Venom, I think we might have to risk it. At worst, we retreat. At best, the Theocracy guys are there with Chipp and we tip the advantage in their favour.” Axl decides, trying to convince Venom that this really is a good idea, something he isn't quite so sure about himself.

 

“At worst, they kill us and their Chinese Vampire consumes our flesh to grow yet more powerful. Then they slaughter the Holy Orders and Librarium Sectors, leaving the world defenseless and take it over, turning it into a free for all for the Sabbat and the various underworld corporations. The only thing that might save this planet is if I sell you and her out and ally the Guild with them before cutting them down at a crucial moment, leaving it to be ruled by Master Zato as my thank you gift to him.” When the hell did he get so sarcastic and snippy?

 

Better yet, how is he going to deal with this newfound snarking?

 

“Erm... Well, let's not think about that.” He smiles awkwardly.

 

“Ah yes, that will surely prevent our deaths.” Venom snaps, being rather sleep deprived himself.

 

Baiken groans.

 

“Shut up! We're wasting time we could spend getting the jump on them! The longer we wait here, the more time they have to get word about us!” She rationalizes.

 

Reasonable. She's capable of strategic thoughts after all.

 

“Fine.” Venom reluctantly agrees, slinking into his seat.

 

And at last, the truck starts barreling down the street.

 

“Where to Low?” Baiken asks, finally calling him by his name (though he'd prefer it if she'd be less formal with it).

 

“That zombie chick said down the street and to the right.” He explains, figuring that he better tell them that he saw (what he assumes to be) a zombie sooner rather than later. Just in case there are more and they end up receiving a nasty surprise of yet another type of undead.

 

“Zombie? Zombies don't exist.” Venom explains but there's just a touch of curiosity in his voice saying that he knows something the other two don't.

 

“Probably just some Crackhead. Don't worry about it, kid.” Baiken mentions, sounding ever so suspicious.

 

What makes them think they can hide secrets from someone that was born in them? Then again, what that girl is (or isn't) doesn't matter much to him. She's someone else's problem, he supposes. Right now, he has a lot of stuff to deal with and can't make time for her and anything like her. And yet, he still hopes that won't come back to bite him in the ass.

 

He's too busy in his thoughts to notice that he just smashed his head into the metal side of the truck as Baiken turned the corner and while there's no blood, the bruise is nothing to scoff at. So now he has to watch out for that, too. At least it wasn't a concussion. If it was, there'd be pretty much nothing he could do to help at all.

 

“Get out.” Baiken growls, not seeming to understand a little thing called 'volume control'.

 

Axl sort of wants to tell her to calm down but judging by how on edge she is, it will sooner end with his head on the ground than her reconsidering her behaviour. It seems like Venom feels the same way as he slowly leaves the truck rather than arguing, something he's surprisingly fond of.

 

Axl hops out of the truck and onto the ground, thanking himself for wearing shock absorbent sneakers because this could have been bad if it hadn't, admiring how the place actually has a lawn. One would think a Brothel in a shady part of Spain would forgo green for more parking but here he is, stepping on dark green, obviously well taken care of grass. And come to think of it, there isn't a car in sight. There isn't even a garage. Weird.

 

But before he can communicate that peculiarity, Baiken dashes past him, sword in her solitary hand, and towards the front door of the building. Venom follows (Axl notices that he has a limp. He drags his right foot behind his left ever so slightly. Not enough for it to be a great hindrance but just enough that anyone with a perceptive eye can tell he's sustained an injury on that area.) behind her, acting as if he was a second in command. Then again, Axl supposes the assassin doesn't know how to be anything else. Judging by the way he speaks about that Zato guy, Venom's spent his entire life as Number 2. He probably doesn't even think about taking the lead. It's sort of sad, in a way. But he's so... unusual. He'd probably wouldn't like it if the blonde were to imply that he was someone to be pitied in any way.

 

But there isn't time for that kind of thinking right now. The future, the expectations and reality of it, are all shaking and someone has to deal with it. He supposes it has to be him. So gathering his mental reserves and clutching onto his Kusurigama, he runs behind the two of them, irresponsibly entrusting his life to them.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes, I do not like tumblr. I think the website is pretty garbage. I keep it open though because that is where the fandom posts things and the tagging system is nice. So if you ever want to contact me, just send me an ask.
> 
> Also, usually I am self-depreciative but I like this chapter~


	23. The Midnight Carnival

The Midnight Carnival

 

_“Do not fail me.” The voice was cold as steel but the gentleness behind it was intoxicatingly glamorous so that even the stars that heard it suddenly grew drunk and rowdy, flickering underneath the pale moonlight._

 

“ _When have we ever failed you, Boss?” The woman of the night with lips redder than the roses of Paradise asked, sneering at the sight of who she would be later working as if they were nothing more than common trash._

 

_They find it amusing. After all, that woman was the one they found on the street, frightened and so very alone. The other two, they searched for them, waited for them, were in awe of them. But even so, they love this woman just as much._

 

“ _I believe that_ you _shouldn't be asking that.” A vampire whose once vibrant eyes have grown dull and rusted with continual bloodshed smirked in a parody of an acceptable response._

 

_It was not a very good parody and their Boss already found themselves biting their lip in anger._

 

_To stave off the rage, they turned towards their third servant. A mysterious fellow with some strange desires, yes, but his loyalty and his gentleness (though he hides it so well behind that mask of his) have no bounds and will never be stifled. A perfect servant in any respect. But a very miserable and unpredictable one at the same time. It seems that everything perfect in this world has a damaged interior. It is simply part of the appeal._

 

“ _Keep a watch over them. You know that they can not behave themselves. Especially around one another.”_

 

“ _Yes Master.” The third replied, his voice ever stoney and to the point with a certain cruelty behind it that was easily mistaken for that gentleness he was so renowned for._

 

_In truth, his gentleness showed itself for only a select few creatures. The birds of this earth and all the children on it as well (and of course his Master but he would never say it out loud for birds are always so proud, it's a sin). But he spares not a sincere feeling for those fallen from Paradise._

 

“ _Kiss ass.” The nightly woman muttered underneath her breath, taking her piece of Paradise in hand and strumming upon it so softly as to rip a hole within space and time._

 

_They wondered if those three will ever allow them to say goodbye. Oh well, even if they never will, they always say goodbye in their own little way._

 

“ _May God's grace be with you.” They mumbled with just a little bit of irony._

 

-*-

 

“You f--!” Sol snaps, turning his head towards where the Witch was just standing.

 

He swears, when he gets his hands around her goddamn neck, he's gonna rip it clean out so it looks like she never even had one. This is what? The 4th or so time she's 'played with' one of his Lifetimes (he swears that she had something to do with the last one but damnit, he can hardly remember what happened with that one)? How the fuck does she even know who he is? And besides that, no Mage actually possesses that kind of Time Rifting ability (especially not a frigging rock and roll Mage. Maybe one of the more Hippie ones but not rock and roll. They're too goddamn dumb to pull off those kinds of stunts) so who the holy fuck's augmenting it? Well, whoever it is, whatever they are, he'll rip them a new asshole too!

 

He growls and brushes the splinters off his jacket, muttering beneath his breath about Witches with B's and walks through the place. For a 'Brothel', it's very nice looking. Actually looks the part too. Just more high class. Underwear freaking everywhere (boxers, boxer briefs, the laciest of panties and holy fuck is that a G string with the Theocracy symbol on it. Oh hell yeah he's taking that with him), a stripper pole's in the goddamn living room in front of a flatscreen (they can afford a flatscreen???? he can't pay his goddamn rent half the time! Granted, that's not because he can't afford it but still...). Well anyway, the flatscreen's on the ground and there's porn on it and there's a stripper pole in front of it and sofas and this is such a hot mess.

 

Looks like the entire place is owned by them as well because there's no trace of any roommates in sight and you know, judging by those stairs, the place is bigger than he thought. Two story, at least. But still, it doesn't look very personal. Everything's very white and beige. It's like they stole the place and intended to give it back but changed their minds. Then again, knowing Witchy, the place was probably stolen from some Trust-fund Hipster kid. Heh, he sort of hopes the other two girls aren't as nasty but dress the same. That'd be great. Wait, are they girls? He thinks they are. 50 percent sure.

 

The first room he walks into is a hallway. There's a kitchen with a live pig strapped down on it (and an open window caked with blood but that's just what happens when living with a vampire, Eastern or otherwise) but besides that, it's clear that they take pride on keeping the place nice. They must have people coming over often. You know, people that aren't Johns.

 

And judging by the moaning coming from the room at the end of the hallway, he's just found the bedroom and at least one of those other Carnies. At least he'll catch them off guard.

 

He walks towards the room, clutching tightly onto Fireseal as he tries not to make a sound. And even though those boots against the solid ground are unmistakable, the people inside that room don't seem to notice, not even when he kicks the solid Oak door right down and starts screaming like some kind of madman. In fact, the man in front of him doesn't even bat an eyelash. Someone just failed their Intimidate roll. Badly. In fact, he just rolled a natural 1 (four dots in Intimidate ain't gonna help much if you botch the roll baby) . That's how unintimdated this vampire is. Fucking scrub.

 

“Soooo....” The man drawls out, batting his eyelashes towards the hulk of a man who has grown even more enraged at the fact that he's not getting the reaction he wanted. “How can I help you?”

 

Sol's taken aback. Not only at the lack of surprise but at the fact that he's staring at the most ripped man he's ever met and that man's sitting on the ground in front of a vase of roses wearing some kind of blue skirt, pants thing that those Shrine Maidens wear and one of those girly ass kimono sleeve things but no shirt. And a fan. Just one small fan which he's idly fanning himself with, looking at Sol like he has no cares in the entire freaking world. Like, he knows the kid's a vampire but this is a bit much.

 

“Are you the Chinese vampire?” Sol's not sure else what to say, he's quite shocked really. The kid can't be older than 25, 26, and here he is staring him down like he's nothing, absolutely nothing.

 

And yet, the second Sol gets out those words the man's (handsome, he's gotta admit) face distorts into a snarl. His lips pull back with a hiss, revealing a pair of large upper and lower fangs and his eyes turn a deep red. But seconds later, he returns to normal like nothing even happened, same expression, same position, same breathing cycle (and you know... why the fuck is he breathing?).

 

“No.” He states coldly but not moving his face. “There are no Chinese vampires in this establishment. If you are looking for one, I recommend you check out Babel Nose instead. It's really quite close to here so you shouldn't get lost or misguided at all. Now get out.”

 

Sol growls and sits down in front of the man on the conveniently located chair (it's really quite comfortable and built for a man only slightly smaller than him so it fits better than any of the shoddy shit he's used to).

 

“I'm not going anywhere until you Freaks tell me what this is about.” He replies, getting over his initial shock.

 

The man sneers at him in disgust (do they all do that?) and snaps his fan closed, throwing it down on the table.

 

“Oi, oi, no need for calling me something like that. I thought we had a misunderstanding, that's all.” He replies, waving his hands as to soothe the situation but the frown on his face tells Sol that the kid isn't really interested in 'pleasant' conversations. “But you'll have to be more specific about this. What exactly are we talking about? Is it something about Obasan? I promise, we'll compensate you for whatever property damage she did.”

 

Sol would have almost been fooled by it but the look in that kid's eyes reflect those of a trickster's. He's playing dumb. What a punk.

 

“I don't know if you knew this you brat, but I'm Sol Badguy. So maybe you should treat me with some respect, yeah?” The demon hisses back.

 

“So aggressive.” The man mutters. “Yeah, I know who you are. But so does everyone! You're famous, y'know?”

 

Sol leans back in the chair, folding his legs in a four and lounging his arms on either armrest. He notices at this point a small black bird is perched delicately on the bloodsucker's shoulder, looking curiously at him as if he was the most interesting thing it's ever seen. It quickly makes it's way over to his own (meaty) shoulder, finding itself a new home.

 

“Quit the chit chat.” Sol snaps as he strokes the bird ever so gently with a finger, tired already of the signature Vampire circle talk. “I know who you guys are. After I say that Witch, it was obvious. Where's your Boss?”

 

The man lifts up his fan again and starts drumming it lazily against the table.

 

“Dunno. I don't know what Boss does for fun. You should know better than me.” He shrugs.

 

“Don't play dumb with me.” Sol snaps, as hotheaded as ever. “I know you know!”

 

“Don't you think you are getting a little touchy, my dearest Fredrick?” Another voice asks.

 

Sol is confused at first but when he feels a long strand of hair where feathers once were, he realizes exactly the error he's made.

 

“Oh fuck me!” He exclaims as the Corax gets off his shoulder and takes his place beside the vampire.

 

“We could be we'd have to charge.” The Witch giggles, appearing out of seemingly nowhere.

 

Sol growls but doesn't attack them. He's got to finish this whole interrogation deal first. Chasing them off before he gets any information out of them is unprofessional and frankly, in poor taste. He'll smash their faces in afterwards though. Going for that snippy vampire first.

 

“Where is your Boss?” He repeats, voice a guttural growl.

 

The Witch shrugs.

 

“Hell if I know. Raven, do you know?” She asks.

 

The Corax simply shakes his head. Damn, he's the most freaky of the lot. He's got a goddamn metal spike sticking out of his forehead. For fuck's sake, 'Boss' sure knows how to pick em. Then again, if you ignore the kind of purple skin and the metal sticking out of his face (and oh god the eye holy shit that eye is so fucked up), he could be considered attractive. He has a very sculpted face and his remaining eye is striking. Sides that, silver hair actually looks good on him.

 

“Do I know _where_ our Master is? No. It is impossible to understand such things. I can not do it and neither can you. But I know their orders regarding you.” Heh, he sounds gentle compared to the other two. Must be the leader so he's probably got some tricks up his sleeves, or rather, gloves. Even so, 'their'? What bullshit.

 

“Well? I'm waiting?” Sol replies, raising an eyebrow to show how much he doesn't care.

 

“That Man has requested to know if you are aware of 'The Day of Judgment' or perhaps 'The New World'.” The bird says it like a statement but there's a question in there somewhere. He thinks.

 

Sol shakes his head with a bit of a smirk, ready to start laughing at that ridiculous little horn of the kid's.

 

“Can't say I do.” He snorts.

 

The Witch snickers (or maybe cackles would be a better adjective) at that but is quickly silenced by a slight glance from her fan wielding companion.

 

“Well then, I suppose I have to explain it to you. In simple terms, J---”

 

Sadly, before he can finish that sentence, a pool ball goes whistling through the air right past his head, striking a hole in the wall (which, upon further inspection, is made of hard wood).

 

“Missed.” A man's voice calls out, so deep that it actually resonates through the walls.

 

Well shit just got real interesting. More interesting than usual. Sol stands up, grabs his Fireseal and turns towards his opponents.

 

They look even less intimidating then the girly vampire. A woman that can't be more than 5'2 standing upright with bubblegum pink hair and a black guy dressed like a butler themed stripper and yet, both of them stare at him like he's not even a treat. They're gonna have a real nasty surprise when he starts on em.

 

But, you know, the Vampire looks like he just got slapped in the face, he's staring at her with the fear he should have had when Sol threatened him. Looks like the 5'2 pink samurai chick just rolled a natural 20 actually.

 

She draws her sword, throwing it into the air and catching it in her solitary hand and charges towards Sol, screaming as if Hell were coming up at her heels, asking if she'd like to hear the Devil's Mixed Tape. Sol lifts up his sword to block her but her blade never comes into contact with his. In fact, it feels like the entire world just stopped.

 

The kid, the vampire kid, chokes on the air and cries out

 

“B-Big Sis?”

 

And for a second, Sol's pretty sure his jaw's slacked.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally, the plot begins to thicken. I was worried about it. It seemed sort of thin. 
> 
> Short chapter because it will continue in 3 others and I didn't want those all to be short. Besides, it is an Interlude. Of a sort.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted a shocking prologue, one that fit with the Old World. I wonder if this is a bit too much though. Oh and don't worry, first impressions aren't everything and Ky is definitely not a villain. Just a little misguided. The Old World never took favourably to men like him so I wrote an angsty first chapter to reflect that.


End file.
